


The Things Love Can Overlook

by WeezlBot



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: Arguments, Crying, Cuddles, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Graphic Self-Harm, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape of a Child, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inappropriate Humor, Light Angst, Men Crying, Past Rape/Non-con, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Recovery, Self-Harm, Sex Talk, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Vomiting, Written in the middle of the night (mostly), somewhat unrealistic anorexia recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22400146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeezlBot/pseuds/WeezlBot
Summary: There's something no one has noticed about Miranda. Unfortunately for her, it's becoming increasingly hard to hide. Soon, she won't be able to hide it any longer.Meanwhile, Clarisse is fighting her own demons. They claw in the corner of her mind, screaming about a blue-eyed girl who didn't deserve her fate. And she doesn't know how much longer she can fight.This is the story of what happens when their tales collide.
Relationships: Clarisse La Rue/Chris Rodriguez, Miranda Gardiner/Sherman Yang, platonic Miranda Gardiner/Clarisse La Rue
Comments: 15
Kudos: 48





	1. The Reasons People are Late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna stan the Miranda/Clarisse friendship until the day that I die. Clarisse needs a friend and Miranda needs to be on halfway decent terms with her boyfriend's family. Also, I just like those stories where one person gets more attached to some relative than to the lover themselves.

“Clarisse?” Sherman asked. 

Clarisse sighed and looked over the railing of her bunk at Sherman. “Fuck you want?”

“Have you heard from Miranda?” 

“Why the hell would I have heard from your girlfriend?” Clarisse asked. “There are reasons people are late. She’s probably just in the toilet or doing her hair or something.”

“... I know,” Sherman sighed.

“Look, man, if you’re that desperate to get your rocks off you can go stream some porn in the Big House basement or something. It really isn’t a difficult problem to solve,” Clarisse grumbled. 

“Clarisse, you know I’m not into traditional porn.”

“Oh, right. You’re only into loli piss foot fetish hentai. I forgot.”

“Son of a… Clarisse, just because I watch anime porn doesn’t mean I have some host of crazy fetishes. I’m vanilla as shit, really.”

“Gods damn it. You know what? I’m gonna just go find Miranda myself. I’m done with this conversation.” Clarisse sprang up, climbed down the ladder, pulled on her cloak and combat boots and left the cabin. She stormed across the cabin main towards Cabin 4. It was after dinner and the sun was just starting to set.

Come to think about it, she wasn’t sure she’d seen Miranda at dinner either. 

Clarisse knocked on the door of the Demeter cabin. No answers. There was a note on the door. Clarisse squinted. It read _Meg’s going to an after dinner spar with Percy. I’m going with her for moral support. XOXO💚 Billie._

Clarisse groaned. Fucking hell. Well, it hadn’t said anything about Miranda. She tried the knob. It was unlocked. She entered the cabin and her senses were immediately assaulted by the smell of flowers. _How do they_ sleep _in here? I’ve been in here three seconds and my nose and throat are already itching so bad I can hardly deal. Fuck this, I’m a desert girl. I don’t like all these plants. Cacti don’t do this shit._

She coughed and cleared the mucus out of her throat. “Miranda! You here?”

No response. Something in Clarisse told her to keep looking. Somehow, it was strong enough to overwhelm her sniffles. She wandered through the cabin. The grass was high enough to tickle her ankles. “Shit,” she grumbled. _This is like fucking tickle torture. How the hell does anyone live here?_ “Miranda!”

She pushed past the tree and through a wall of flowers. _Oh. There’s a bathroom back here. Well, at least they’re not so far gone they’re using their own waste as fertilizer. Gods, I remember there was a time Auntie Marta had an aloe plant she used to water with her own pee. That was awful._

The door stood slightly ajar. Clarisse knocked. “Miranda?”

No response. Clarisse was about to turn to leave when she heard a weak moan from inside. She poked her head inside. “Miranda!”

Miranda was lying on the tile floor of the bathroom. Her hair covered her face. There didn’t seem to be any blood anywhere, at least none that Clarisse could see. She knelt down next to Miranda and shook her slightly. “Miranda, are you okay? What happened? Did you fall and hit your head or something?”

“... I… I don’t…” She was slurring her words badly.

Clarisse rolled her over onto her back. Her face wasn’t bruised, but it looked more gaunt than normal. Her eyes were sunken. “Okay. Tell me the honest truth. What happened before you fell?”

Miranda’s lip trembled. “I… I don’t know. I was… I was brushing my hair and… and I… I just… I don’t know. I blacked out.”

“Okay.” Clarisse tried to make her voice as gentle as possible. “Here. Let’s get you to the infirmary. Can you stand?”

“... I don’t know,” Miranda whimpered. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. I… I can carry you, probably.”

“What about Sherman? We… we…”

“I know. You had a date. I’ll tell him you’re sick. He’ll understand.”

“I… I…” Miranda closed her eyes. 

“Shh. It’s all right.” Clarisse scooped her up bridal-style. “Gods, you’re light. You hardly weigh anything at all.”

“Thanks,” Miranda managed, leaning her head on Clarisse’s shoulder. “I work at it.”

“Just for future reference, guys like a little fat on a girl sometimes. You don’t have to be all skin and bones. And a little muscle will help you fight the monsters,” Clarisse managed as she carried Miranda from the bathroom. Somehow, she got to the infirmary without seeing Sherman. “Will!”

Will jumped. He was sitting at his desk when she came in. “What’s wrong?”

“She collapsed in her cabin’s bathroom while she was brushing her hair. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

“... Okay,” Will replied, turning a quizzical eye to Miranda. “... Put her down on the cot. You must be wiped carrying her all the way here.”

“Nah. She doesn’t weigh anything,” Clarisse replied, laying her down gently and pulling the sheets over her.

Will’s brow furrowed. “On second thought… I want to weigh her. Can she stand at all?”

“... I don’t know,” Miranda whimpered. “I… I passed out and when I woke up Clarisse was shaking me. I don’t know anything.”

“Well,” Will started gently. “It’s good that you’re lucid at least. Do you think you have a fever?”

“... No. I… I feel weak.”

“Weak? Okay. Just weak?”

“Weak and lightheaded.”

“But not achey or nauseous or anything.”

“... My stomach hurts,” Miranda moaned. 

“Your stomach. Not your head or anything else.”

“No.”

“Did you eat anything weird?” Will asked, rapidly making notes on a clipboard.

“No.”

“When did you last eat? Dinner?”

“No, I… I skipped dinner to… to get ready for… for… I was supposed to go out with Sherman tonight, but…” Her eyes watered. “I guess that’s not happening.”

“Okay. Lunch, then?”

Miranda paused. She looked at the ceiling, her sunken eyes watering. “... Yeah.”

“And you just had normal camp food?”

“... Yes.”

“And you didn’t throw up or anything?”

“No.”

“... Ookay. Well… I don’t think it’s food poisoning. Miranda, if your stomach is that empty, then that could explain the pain in it. I can get you some food-”

“-No. I’m not… I’m not hungry.” Miranda’s voice was almost a whisper.

Will studied her face. “... I want to get you to the exam room. I want to weigh you. You… your face is pretty gaunt. Like… last I saw that was…” He trailed off.

Clarisse saw that Will’s mind was moving at a million miles an hour. Analyzing every little detail of Miranda’s face and body. Analyzing her every word. “Here, I can help you get her there.”

“Please do,” Will responded. “Quickly!” 

Clarisse picked her up. When she turned, Will was beckoning her from the door. He looked almost panicked. _Shit. He thinks this is serious. I can see it in his eyes._ She carried Miranda to the exam room and lay her down on the table. She could see tears forming in her eyes. “Hey,” Clarisse said firmly. “You’ll be fine. Will’s got skills. He’ll make it better.”

Miranda shook her head. “... Just… get me out of here. Please. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Clarisse didn’t know how to respond, so she took her small bony hand in one of her own large ones and stroked gently across the knuckles. 

Will returned from fiddling with some control on the side of the exam table. “Okay. I think I got this piece of shit functional.”

“Functional?” Clarisse queried.

“Yeah. This thing’s older than me. It doesn’t work so well anymore,” Will sighed. “I mean, I’m only seventeen myself, but still.” He fiddled with it for a few minutes. “Here, pick her up again. I have to zero this piece of ass.”

Clarisse did as she was told. She didn’t bother asking questions. She was just too tired. 

“Okay. Should be okay now. Put her down.”

Miranda clung to Clarisse as sobs began to choke from her throat. “Don’t put me down! Please, Clarisse, I know everyone says you’re as cruel as it gets but _please_ don’t put me down! Please! Clarisse, I’ll… I’ll do anything! _Anything!”_

Clarisse looked helplessly at Will. _Gods,_ she hated this feeling. 

Will returned the same helpless look. He walked to Miranda and put a hand on her back. “Miranda, whatever that scale reads, I promise you it’ll be okay. I won’t… I won’t judge. I’m not that type of guy.”

“Don’t put me on that scale,” she whimpered. “I weighed myself last week. I was a hundred thirty. Perfectly healthy. You don’t get dangerously underweight in a week. I swear.”

“Miranda,” Will whispered. “That isn’t the truth. It’s just not. Your eyes wouldn’t be sunken if you were at a healthy weight. I don’t think you would have collapsed, either, if you weren't underweight.”

“I’m not underweight. I’m… I’m healthy. Hell, I could stand to lose some weight.”

Clarisse squoze her. “I doubt I’d be able to feel your ribs through your shirt if you weren’t underweight.”

“You’re ganging up on me,” she sobbed. “You’re ganging up on me and I don’t like it. Just put me down and I’ll make it to Sherman. _He’ll_ side with me.”

“Not if he loves you,” Clarisse replied. She took a breath, hardened her heart and put Miranda down on the exam table.

Miranda hollered and sobbed. She clutched Clarisse’s armor straps in a white-knuckle grip. Clarisse closed her eyes and pulled her hands away, leaving Miranda curled up on the table wailing like an injured animal. “Why? Clarisse, I thought… I thought we were _friends!_ I thought you _cared_ about me!”

“Miranda, I…”

“Fuck off! Go… go fall on your spear, Clarisse. Go fall on your fucking spear,” she sobbed. 

“... I’m gonna go get Sherman,” Clarisse muttered flatly. “Tell him his girl is sick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Auntie Marta = Marta Rodriguez, Chris's mom. We don't know her name so I headcanonned her in. She's not too important for this particular fic, but I HC that she helped raise Clarisse when her home life went to shit.


	2. Girlie's First Really Sharp Object

“Clarisse!” Sherman shouted as she walked into the cabin. “What happened? Where’s Miranda?”

“Yeah. She’s… a little sick. She’s in the infirmary. She told me to go kill myself when I tried to put her on a scale for a weigh-in.” Clarisse pulled her boots off and flopped into bed.

“That’s unlike her. She’s normally so sweet,” Sherman mused. “She must be really worried about her weight. Weird. She’s not fat or anything.”

“Yeah. Will thought she was dangerously underweight.”

“Because she skips meals?” Sherman asked.

“... I didn’t know about that. When was the last meal you saw her eating?”

“Breakfast. She had some strawberries and said she was full.”

“You need to go tell Will that. He asked the same thing and she lied to him. She said the last meal she ate was at lunch.”

Sherman got up and pulled his shoes on. “Yeah. I’ll go right now.” He ran off. “... didn’t know it was this bad.”

Clarisse shook her head. She pulled her cloak aside, revealing her own arms. Skinny white scars laced across her bicep. She closed her eyes, remembering when they were new and red. Her breath came quick, remembering the rush of relief, of _just being okay_ that she got. 

_Is this what Miranda felt when she skipped dinner? When she skipped lunch? When she skipped gods alone know how many meals before that?_

She closed her eyes. Miranda’s voice echoed in her head. _Go fall on your spear. Go fall on your spear, Clarisse. Clarisse, go fall on your spear._ _Your fucking spear._

She wondered how that would feel. The point reaming through her flesh, toughened by training but not tough enough to resist. The electricity frying through her, cauterizing the wound as it went, frying her brain and nerves and spinal cord and erasing her every thought and feeling and memory in one sudden instant. She wondered what her face would look like as it happened. Would she look peaceful? Would she look like Silena had, her face emotionless, her eyes fixed on nothing? Or would her face contort, screaming and howling as the electricity made her seize and the tears evaporated from her burning, frying eyes? 

Would her death feel like a mercy?

Clarisse shivered. She’d been in a lot of pain over the course of her life. She’d suffered countless injuries. But she…

She had never _died._

She curled up in the fetal position and pulled the blankets over herself. Thinking about death always made her feel cold and she didn’t know why. Closing her eyes only made Miranda’s voice come back. _Fuck you Clarisse, go fall on your spear._

She got up and went to her footlocker. Her veins were full of pressure. _Same old shit. I get sad and then my veins bulge. Or feel like they’re bulging. I should have Will check that. Maybe he has a remedy._

_Until then, self-medication isn’t so bad._

She pulled out an ornate box from her footlocker and brought it back up to her bed. Pulling a small switchblade from the box, she clicked it a few times. It was a tiny thing, something you bought your teenage daughter as Girlie’s First Really Sharp Object. It was barely even functional, really. At least for anything other than this.

She took off her breastplate and shirt, exposing her chest and abs to the wood planks of the ceiling. She couldn’t bear to look at herself. Too many scars. Too many wounds. Too much grief. Too much abuse. The little strips of red to pink to white stripes and dots decorated her skin like some sort of pox. She’d never met a smallpox victim, she’d been born a few decades too late, but she imagined that this, this _marring,_ was something like what it looked like. 

And she was gonna make it worse.

She pulled her bra down. It was some cheap sports bra that came ten bucks for a pack of six. Standard issue for female demigods that were year-rounders. She remembered at some point it was white. Now it was the color of a dead tuna and covered in stains, most of them her own blood. A few of them someone else’s blood. 

She pushed her little Girlie’s First Really Sharp Object against her less-abused right breast. The razor-bladed side ate into her skin even before she made the slash, a tribute to the condition she kept it in. Pristinely neat and sharpened as much as possible. Just how she liked her things.

A shot of hot relief burned through her as the knife sunk in. She was trembling, trembling like a little girl. Weak and small and useless and helpless. But somehow, _somehow_ so clean and light and just _okay._ She would be okay. Whether Miranda forgave her or not, she would be okay. She’d live. She’d lost friends before. It was okay. 

She melted into her bed, her body warm and weak and heavy. She was tired, so tired, and _gods,_ she hadn’t slept in so long. Her eyelids drooped shut. Her heart filled with love, love for this little forbidden act she’d carried on with for so long, love for how _one little cut_ made her feel. She didn’t think sex was this good. Granted, she was a virgin, but still… 

Her mind floated. She remembered how Chris had held her after the Battle of Manhattan, like she was the only person in the world. Like she was the only one who mattered. 

That was another incredible feeling.

She remembered their first kiss. Hiding out in the Big House Basement, two twelve-year-olds who had no reason to fear the future. Two twelve year olds who thought it would all be okay. She remembered how his lips had connected against hers. He’d made the first move. She remembered marveling at his bravery. He’d always been a brave boy. She thought that maybe that was why she held so much respect for him. 

Her mind drifted to Sherman. How was he reacting? She wasn’t into women, but she figured that if it was her girlfriend who was revealed to be slowly killing herself, she’d be in agony. 

Maybe she could track him down after her sleep and figure out what was going on with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I'm gonna be honest, I really don't know where exactly this fic is going. All I know is that it's become more Clarisse-centric than I originally intended.  
> But don't worry. Miranda will still be the central plot focus. So if you're here for her, you're not SOL or anything. It's just that Clarisse has sort of become the narrator.  
> But that could change.


	3. "I just don't want to be fat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's not forget that it's canon that Clarisse is actually really kind and gentle with people she cares for.  
> It's just everybody else she's a bitch to.

Clarisse jerked awake to the sound of a horn.  _ What? Shit, what’s happening? Sons of bitches, it’s morning.  _ She groaned. Something was digging into her side. She reached down. It was a switchblade. 

She felt a sting in the skin of her breast.  _ Shit. _ That was why she’d had her knives in bed with her. Oh, gods. She’d sworn she would quit. She’d told Chris, hand on heart, that she was going to quit. She sighed. Well, she could lie to him. She felt terrible about having to do it, but it was better than hurting him. He didn’t deserve to be hurt.

She looked over the rail of her bed. She could see Ellis doing his typical morning moan-and-bitch. Unfortunately, since Sherman hadn’t come home last night, Ellis’s words fell on deaf ears. Clarisse wasn’t gonna listen to it. She didn’t have the energy.

Ellis grumbled all the way into a shower. Clarisse sighed.  _ Well, so much for a shower this morning. _ She sprayed on some cheap deodorant, put on a shirt and bra that weren’t covered in blood and left for the infirmary.  _ Even if Miranda thinks I’m a cunt, I still owe it to Sherman at least to check up on her situation. And I mean, I am a cunt, and I pride myself on it, so… _

She walked across the cabin main. Chris was sitting on the front step of the Hermes cabin. He beckoned to her. “Clarisse!”

Her tummy twisted.  _ So much for that plan.  _ She sat down on the step next to him. “What’s up?”

“Not much. Uh… I saw you, like… carrying Miranda or something last night. What was up with that?”

Clarisse told him the full story. 

Chris watched intently, kindness in his dark eyes. “Oh, gods. Poor Miranda. Nobody should have to go through that.”

Clarisse shook her head. “... At least Miranda shouldn’t.” She paused. “I’m gonna go check on her.”

“... Do,” Chris said. He put a small kiss on her cheek. “Want me to come with you?”

“... Sure. Let’s go.” Clarisse put her hand in Chris’s. His hand was warm and soft. He clearly cared about his skin, something that she herself lacked in. They walked to the infirmary together.

Once they got there, they saw Nico di Angelo sitting silently in a chair by the door. “Will’s in a private room with Miranda and Sherman. Miranda has a little problem. An… ah… mood issue or something. I don’t really understand it.”

“No, I know what’s happening,” Clarisse responded. “I’m just here to check on her.”

“You do that. Sherman told me to fuck off when I tried.”

“Someday you’re gonna have to tell me why Sherman hates you so much because he won’t tell me.”

“That’s a hole too deep to stick your personals in,” Nico sighed. 

“Nice metaphor. May I use it?” Clarisse asked.

“Please do,” Nico replied cheerily. 

“Anyway… I’ll seeya later,” Clarisse said.

“Seeya,” Nico responded.

Clarisse opened the door of the private room. Will was leaning over her. “Miranda, please. Please just eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” Miranda sounded exhausted, broken, close to tears.

“Just a little cereal. Come on, you  _ like _ cereal. And this is the diet kind. And we’ll give it with skim milk. Please, Miranda, I… I can’t do this anymore.” Sherman sounded like he was crying. 

Clarisse walked towards where Miranda was in her bed. Her face was buried in the pillow. Sherman and Will looked up as they heard her footsteps. Gods damn it, Sherman  _ had _ been crying. “Miranda, they’re right. You should-”

“-Get the fuck away from me!” Miranda screeched, sitting bolt upright in her bed. Her face was gaunt, her eyes wild. “You ruined me! I thought you were one of the best friends I’d ever had and you  _ fucking ruined _ me!”

“Miranda,” Sherman pleaded. “Don’t blame Clarisse. She was worried for you, that’s all. She did it because she cares about you.”

“She threw me to the wolves,” Miranda sobbed.  _ “You  _ threw me to the wolves!” She pointed at Clarisse like she was some kind of monster. “Are you happy now? ‘Cuz I hope you’re fucking happy, Clarisse. I hope you’re fucking happy.”

“I’m not,” Clarisse responded. “You’re treating me like I’m the asshole here, and for once I don’t think I am.”

Miranda looked at her hatefully. Tears streamed from her sunken eyes. “You are, Clarisse. You don’t realize this but you are.”

Clarisse paused. “... Well then, I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft. 

Sherman sat on the bed behind Miranda and held her. “Clarisse doesn’t apologize much, my girl. You should… you should forgive her. I know you’re mad but she really does care for you.”

Miranda sniffled, put her head in her hands and sobbed quietly.

“Can I talk to her alone for a moment?” Clarisse asked. 

Sherman sniffled. “... Okay. I guess so.” 

“... Sure. See if you can get her to eat a bit of cereal,” Will said. 

They left, Sherman with his head in his hands. Clarisse shook her head. “He’s hurt, you know that?”

“... I know,” Miranda whispered. “... I’ve never seen him cry before.”

“I haven’t either,” Clarisse managed. 

“I don’t mean to hurt him,” Miranda sobbed. “I love him so much…”

Clarisse paused. “... I know how it feels.”

“No you don’t,” Miranda hiccuped. “No you don’t.”

Clarisse scanned her face. She looked so tired. Had she slept at all? “... I… I think I know better than you understand.”

Miranda sniffled. “If you understand, than you wouldn’t have put me here.”

“... Miranda… you  _ collapsed.  _ I found you on the  _ ground.  _ Miranda…” Clarisse sighed. “Miranda, I thought you were dying.”

A tear ran down Miranda’s cheek. Clarisse reached out and thumbed it away. Miranda let her. “... I took it too far. I should have… I should have kept myself on multivitamins. Then I wouldn’t have passed out.”

Clarisse sighed. She didn’t have the energy to argue with someone who was hurting so bad. “Multivitamins are good for you, yeah.”

Miranda didn’t say anything. A few more tears ran down her cheeks. “I just… I don’t want to be fat.”

“You’re not, Miranda. All we wanted was for you to have a little bit of cereal. Barely one or two hundred calories, probably. Just a little meal’s worth,” Clarisse murmured.

“That’s a lot.”

“Not when you consider that the average healthy female consumes about one thousand five hundred,” Clarisse said. 

“That’s too much,” Miranda sniffled softly. “That’s too much.”

“Only if you never exercise,” Clarisse reminded. 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Miranda sniffled. “I don’t. I know I’m too fat or too thin or too… misshapen or weird or some, but I just don’t… don’t want to talk about it anymore.” 

Clarisse studied her. “... You’re tired, aren’t you.”

Miranda nodded. 

“Did they let you sleep?”

“... Yeah. I just didn’t sleep well. I… I just can’t stop crying. I can’t.”

Clarisse looked at her. Miranda thought she looked sympathetic. “You should sleep.”

Miranda bowed her head. “... Maybe I should.” She paused. “Clarisse, I… I…”

“You what?”

“I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Tears slipped from Miranda’s eyes again. “I’m sorry. I’m not… I don’t want to be here, and I’m not happy you put me here, but… but I shouldn’t have hurt you. Clarisse, you’re my friend. I… I love you.”

Clarisse sighed. She put her arms around Miranda and pulled her into her lap, cradling her. “It’s okay. Really. I was never mad.”

Miranda buried her face in Clarisse’s chest. Her chest was so soft when she wasn’t wearing armor. “Clarisse, I… I… I’m so sorry, I… it wasn’t right for me to hurt you. I’m… I’m just…”

“You’re hurt,” Clarisse murmured. “You’re hurt and you’re sad and you’re sick. And you lashed out at me because you were hurt. And you were hurt because you felt like you’d… you’d never feel the way you did when you skipped meals again.”

Miranda met Clarisse’s eyes. “How did you know all of that?”

Clarisse smiled down at her. She remembered when Chris had told her to stop self-harming for the first time. She’d thrown a knife at him.

“... Just a hunch, I suppose,” she lied.

Miranda shrank back into Clarisse’s arms. “Clarisse… did you ever…”

“No. I never starved myself. I never purged either. I was always really careful with what I ate, but that included making sure I ate enough.”

“You’re always in peak physical health, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah. If you’re in top physical health, you’re harder to kill,” Clarisse sighed. 

Miranda didn’t respond. Clarisse couldn’t see her face. She laced her fingers through her hair, gently. Finally, Miranda whimpered “What kind of girls does Sherman like?”

“Girls who take care of themselves,” Clarisse answered truthfully. “I mean, I heard him say he thought Nyssa was unattractive because she’s always scungy and covered in dirt. He also said I was uglier than shit because I’m covered in scars and my hair’s all crappy.”

“And what did you do in response to him?”

“Broke his nose. He calls my face ugly, I make his face ugly. Did the same thing to Jackson when he said my eyes looked like a pig’s.”

“Oh, gods, Clarisse,” Miranda groaned. “You know Sherman’s got some PTSD from you, right?”

“... Yeah. Perhaps I was too harsh on him.” Clarisse shook her head. “But he’s a good man and a strong fighter, so it all paid off. As for Jackson, he had it coming.”

“... Right. Will there ever be a time you  _ don’t _ think Percy had violence coming to him?”

Clarisse thought. Miranda could hear the air circulating in her lungs, the beating of her heart. “... Nah.”

Miranda sighed. “Yeah. Sounds right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you and Percy are probably gonna go at it until the end of time.”

“I mean, if I kill him…”

“Don’t kill anybody,” Miranda said firmly. “But… hold on, we’re off topic. Sherman likes girls who take care of themselves?”

“Yup.”

Miranda breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. So Sherman isn’t gonna fall out of love with me.”

Clarisse looked up. “... I think Sherman loves you… beyond physical attraction. I can see it in his eyes.”

“He was crying,” Miranda whispered. “He was crying so hard. He didn’t even try and hide how hard he was crying. And he… he’s an  _ Ares  _ kid.”

“That he is,” Clarisse murmured. 

Miranda sniffled. “And it hurts to see him hurt that bad. And it hurts… it hurts to know it’s all  _ my _ fault.”

“... Miranda, there’s something that I know and Sherman knows that no one ever told you. You might already know this, but I’m gonna repeat it to you. Miranda…” Clarisse sighed. “The people who can hurt you the most, who  _ will _ hurt you the most, are always the people who are supposed to be close to you. So you hurt Sherman. I hurt Chris. Chris hurts me and Sherman hurts you. Will and Nico hurt each other.”

“Apollo hurts Meg,” Miranda whispered. “Katie and I hurt each other.”

“That’s exactly right.” For delivering such a terrible lesson, Clarisse was doing it very gently. “You’re a smart girl.”

“... I didn’t want to hurt him.” Miranda’s voice cracked. “... I didn’t.”

“Want to know how to make it right?”

Miranda nodded. 

“Go eat the little bowl of cereal you were offered.”

Miranda sighed and looked up at her. “... Fine. Only a tiny one. And only for Sherman.”

Clarisse picked up the box of cereal and prepared the bowl. “For Sherman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miranda's hurt and sick. But for Clarisse and Sherman she'll at least try to recover.  
> But the journey will still be long and difficult.  
> I still have no idea where this fic is going. It started as a vent fic and wound up as a hurt-comfort anorexia recovery thing starring Clarisse and Miranda. Maybe I'll just write and see what happens. That could be fun.  
> Or it could be really stupid. I don't know.


	4. "Poor Little Girlie"

Sherman was sitting in the infirmary on a cot, his head in his hands. Tears poured from his eyes and couldn’t make it stop. Miranda. Miranda. Seeing her wasted body rotting in that bed had killed him. She wouldn’t eat. She hadn’t eaten in gods knows how long. When she did eat she barely ate anything at all. Oh, gods, he’d failed. He’d wanted to love and protect her more than anything and he’d failed. _He’d_ failed. 

“Sherman.” Crap. It was Clarisse. No doubt coming to bitch him out for crying like a little baby. “I have good news.”

“What?”

“I got Miranda to eat something. Some cereal.”

Sherman raised his head. “That’s… incredible. And you did it without force-feeding or violence?”

“I promise you I did not hurt her in any way.” Clarisse held up a hand. 

Sherman wiped his eyes and stood up. “May I see her?”

Clarisse nodded. 

They dashed into the private room. Miranda had an empty bowl on her nightstand. Sherman ran to her bedside. “My girl!” He climbed onto her bed and sat on top of the lump in the sheets her legs made, taking her in his arms. “My girl, my girl…”

“... My boy,” Miranda responded softly, nesting her head in his chest. “You’re so happy, aren’t you?”

“So much,” Sherman murmured. “So much.” He pulled away. “... And I think… I think now that the secret’s out, you’re… you’re on the road to recovery. You’ll get better. And… and then I’ll see you at meals again. And I won’t worry that you’re hungry and lying about it.” He leaned in and kissed her. 

Clarisse looked away. Her chest was warm inside. 

“... And I’m so happy about that,” Sherman finished. 

Miranda sniffled. Clarisse could see the sparkling tears in her eyes. “... It’ll be hard.”

“... I know,” Sherman said quietly.

“These things are hard to get over,” Clarisse agreed. “Honestly, it could be years before she’s really okay. We might be all graduated from college and living in some shithole apartment together and we might find that she hadn’t eaten at all that day.”

Sherman nodded. He leaned in and brushed the tears off of Miranda’s cheeks. “... No, I know. I just… I just want to let you know that I’ll be there for you when you need. And I love you. Even if you turn around and gain three hundred pounds or something, I still love you. And I’m always gonna push for your health.”

“Me too,” Clarisse murmured, sitting next to Miranda and putting a hand on her back. “Look, Sherman and I’ll help you. We’ll be there for you.”

Miranda closed her eyes. “... Thanks, guys, I…” Her voice cracked. “I really appreciate it.”

Clarisse leaned on her shoulder. “Trust me, we appreciate it more.”

Miranda sniffled. Her throat stung. Her sinuses filled with fluid. “... I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt either of you. Never.”

Clarisse wrapped her arms around her, sandwiching Miranda between her and Sherman. “No, I know.”

“You’re forgiven,” Sherman whispered. “You’re forgiven.”

There was a pause. Miranda buried her head in Sherman’s chest. Sherman and Clarisse were both a good bit taller than her, so between them they totally enveloped her. Clarisse and Sherman’s heads were next to each other; Miranda between them, her hair tickling Clarisse’s chest. 

Miranda shivered. A few tears slipped out of her eyes. Relief surged through her and she was left trembling like a child in Sherman and Clarisse’s firm embrace. It was okay. It would be okay. She had her Ares kids. They loved her. She loved them.

It would be okay.

They separated. Sherman rolled off of her legs and lay down next to her. Miranda rubbed his fuzzy hair. “... I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” Sherman murmured.

“Don’t apologize,” Clarisse whispered. “You’re a victim here too.”

“... I am?” Miranda asked.

“... Yeah. Miranda, you… in a really weird way, you’re addicted. Every time you ignore the feelings in your stomach it’s like a little hit. And as time passes, you just get more addicted. It’s vicious, Miranda. It’s beyond vicious.”

Miranda nodded. “It hurts so bad, Clarisse, Sherman, it…”

“I’m sorry,” Sherman whispered. He put his head on Miranda’s thigh. Oh, gods, her _thigh_ was bony. “Oh, my girl.”

“My boy,” Miranda returned, her voice almost a sob. “My boy. Sherman, it hurts. It hurts so bad. It’s the worst… the worst pain and I… I can’t stop.”

Sherman held her hand on his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

“Miranda,” Clarisse whispered. “Miranda… you’re the only one who can help yourself here. Sherman and I will help you. We’ll do anything. But in the end, you’re the only one who can fix this. You’re the one who has to do this.”

“... Help me,” Miranda squeaked. “Help me.” _Oh, gods, help me, I can’t, I can’t…_

Clarisse squoze her. “... I’ll do anything.”

“... How do you stay so fit?” Miranda whispered.

“Near-constant exercise. We can work out together,” Clarisse suggested.

Miranda leaned her head back and met Clarisse’s eyes. “... I’d like that.”

“... Of course. We can start as soon as you’re out of the infirmary.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Sherman warned. _“I_ can’t do her workout routine.”

“I’ll go easy on you, girlie,” Clarisse promised. “I swear.”

“Please do,” Miranda giggled. 

“I will,” Clarisse promised. She gave Miranda one last squeeze. “Now, I think you should get some sleep, okay? I can see you’re exhausted.”

Miranda lay down, moving Sherman’s head off of her thigh and onto the pillow. She pressed herself against Sherman and put her head on Clarisse’s thigh, nuzzling in. 

Clarisse pet her hair. Her fingertips were rough against Miranda’s cheek. “Do you want me to go?”

Miranda shook her head. “... Not really.”

“Okay,” Clarisse whispered. She took off her brown fuzzy cloak and wrapped Miranda’s shoulders. She was cold, but the look of gentle relief on Miranda’s face was worth it. Oh, Miranda made her heart feel so soft inside. “Should I turn off the lights?”

“... Sure.”

Clarisse lay Miranda’s head on the pillow. She crossed the room and turned off the lights. She sat back down on the bed and let Miranda put her head back on her leg. She gently pet her hair, letting her light brown curls stream through her fingers. Strands came loose and fell out, they caught on her calluses and on her jagged, bitten nails and fell on her bare feet, itching her. _Oh, poor little girlie. She’s so hungry her hair’s falling out._

Clarisse relaxed. Miranda was sick, but she had eaten something, and she was safe. _And_ she wasn’t mad at her. Clarisse could rest easy.

She relaxed and let herself fall into a light sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recovery ftw! Also, I know I said this earlier in the notes but I will fucking die for the Clarisse/Miranda friendship.  
> Also, exercise with friends is better than doing it alone. Especially when the friends are accepting of the fact that you suck at physical activity. Just speaking as someone who isn't particularly athletically able.


	5. "Girlie, I promised you I'd be there."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a few weeks. Miranda's recovered somewhat. Unfortunately, setbacks can still occur.

A few weeks passed. Miranda got some of her strength back. Clarisse started working out with her. It wasn’t without its drawbacks. The first day Miranda collapsed halfway through and said she couldn’t handle any more.

Clarisse had had to go easier on her after that. 

Clarisse had just gotten out of her post-workout post-breakfast shower and was sitting on her bunk in only a tee shirt and shorts when she heard a knock at the door. “Come in!” she yelled.

The door opened. Miranda stood there. She was shaking. “Clarisse? Where are you?”

“Up here.” 

Miranda looked up. Clarisse was looking down at her from the top bunk of one of the beds. “... Oh.” She climbed up onto Clarisse’s bunk and sat next to her. “... So… is this bunk like… a dominance assertion thing?”

“... Little bit,” Clarisse admitted. 

“Yeah. That’s what Sherman told me,” Miranda giggled. 

Clarisse chuckled. “That son of a bitch. Anyway… what do you need?”

Miranda looked away. Clarisse thought she looked distressed. “... Clarisse, I… I fucked up.”

“How?” Clarisse tried to make her voice as gentle as possible. 

“... I… I couldn’t eat today,” she whispered. “I just couldn’t.”

Clarisse put a hand on her back. “Why not?”

“... You know why.”

Clarisse stroked her hair gently. “... I’m sorry, girlie, I’m so sorry. I don’t…” Clarisse shook her head. “... I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

Miranda’s eyes watered. “I don’t know what to do either, Clarisse. Please, help me.”

Clarisse felt a sudden urge to hold her. “... I told you, I don’t know what to do. I don’t.”

Miranda blinked. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “... I’m sorry. I know I’m asking too much out of you. I just… I don’t know where else to turn. If I tell Sherman he’ll cry, and I don’t want that. Lou will just get uncomfortable. And I’m not… I’m not that close to anyone else.”

“Does Lou Ellen even know this is happening?” Clarisse asked.

“... Yeah. I told her. She said she was sorry. Gave me a hug. Then she shifted her feet and ran off. Lou… I love her, but she’s a bit of a fairweather friend. She gets weird with emotions.”

“So do I, but I’m still here,” Clarisse muttered.

“... Yeah, but Lou is even worse. Whenever she gets upset by anything, or sees any of her friends upset, all she does is run off and cut herself. It’s been the same shit for years. It’s almost killed our friendship.” Miranda wiped her eyes.

“Pardon me,” Clarisse started. “Lou Ellen runs off and does  _ what?” _

“Cuts herself. She dragged Kayla into it too. Almost got them both killed before Will begged them to stop.”

“... Gods. When did this…”

“In the first four months after Manhattan.”

“... No wonder Will was so depressed,” Clarisse murmured.

“Yeah. Anyway, she didn’t quit. She just got sneakier with it.” Miranda sniffled. “It’s killing our friendship. She’s so hard to be around sometimes that I just can’t deal. I guess Cecil and Will are just made of sterner stuff than I.”

Clarisse rubbed between her shoulder blades. “... Sounds like you both are struggling.”

“... Yeah. But Lou doesn’t want help. She just wants to laugh and play and party like there’s no tomorrow and feelings be damned.”

Clarisse nodded. “... I’d be a hypocrite if I said I wasn’t like that too at times.”

“Yeah, but… Clarisse, you’re not  _ hurting _ yourself.”

Clarisse’s stomach lurched. She wanted to vomit. She couldn’t open her mouth. Her stomach was cramping too badly. 

“... Clarisse? You look like you’re gonna be sick,” Miranda whispered. “Here, look at me.” 

Clarisse looked over at Miranda. 

Her green eyes glistened with concern. “Yeah, you’re all pale and sweaty. Here, take a breath. It’s okay.”

Clarisse took a deep breath and held her stomach. Gradually, the cramping subsided. She looked up at Miranda. “... I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Miranda patted her shoulder. “... Good.”

Clarisse trembled. The secret she held twisted her belly and pushed against her vocal cords, throbbing in her chest as it pained her lungs. “Miranda,” she gasped. “Miranda, would…”

“Would I what?” Miranda whispered, taking her hands. 

For the first time in a while, Clarisse wanted to cry. “... Never mind.”

Miranda took her in a hug. “... Okay. Just… I hope you know you can tell me anything, okay?”

Clarisse met her eyes. “... Okay.” She held Miranda close, burying her face in her hair. Gods, her hair was so soft. She smelled sweet. “... I’m sorry. I just… there’s things I can’t talk to you about right now.”

Miranda nodded. “... Okay.” She buried her face in Clarisse’s chest. She smelled like leather and blood, which was weird. She didn’t even think Clarisse owned a leather jacket.

_ Blood. _ Something terrible crossed her mind. Did Clarisse…  _ No. _ She wouldn’t. She was tougher than that. 

But on some terrible, awful level, it did make sense. It would make sense as to why she had five times as many scars as the average demigod. It would make sense as to why she had such a well-kept and expansive knife collection. 

It would make sense as to why she smelled like blood.

Miranda squoze Clarisse tight before pulling away. “... I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You’re the one trying to kick an eating disorder.”

Miranda gave her a sympathetic look. “... I know.”

Clarisse scanned Miranda’s face. Her stomach cramped again.  _ Shit. She knows. How much does she know?  _ “... We got off track. You were here because you said you couldn’t eat and had nowhere else to turn to.”

Miranda lay her head back against Clarisse’s chest. “... Yeah. It’s… Last night was bad. Today was bad.”

“Does your stomach hurt at all?” Clarisse asked. “Because if you haven’t eaten anything in what, fifteen hours, then your stomach probably hurts a lot.”

“... No. I’m on six different painkillers. I wouldn’t feel it if you ran your spear through my gut. So no, I’m not in any pain.”

Clarisse shook her head. “That’s no way to live.”

“But I’m not hurting. And I’m not gaining weight.”

“The way you and I have been exercising I don’t think you could gain any weight if you ate four thousand calories a day.” Clarisse shook her head. “Look, Randa, you’re not making any sense.”

Miranda didn’t respond to the nickname. “... I don’t want to get fat. Look.” She pulled down her shirt collar and showed Clarisse her collarbones. “You can’t see them anymore.”

“I can see them easily,” Clarisse replied. “You need glasses or something?”

“Show me yours. You think you’re a healthy weight. Show me your collarbones so I can see how much collarbone you think should be visible.”

Clarisse almost flinched. She made a mental inventory of how many scars or cuts were on the same level as her collarbones. “Uh…”

“Do it!” Miranda growled.

Clarisse pulled down her shirt. Miranda studied them. “I can’t see those.”

Clarisse poked them. “... Meh. I mean, I’m not fat, so…”

“Shut up, you body-positivity Tumblr slut,” Miranda growled, crossing her arms.

Clarisse grabbed her arms and hauled her against the wall. Miranda squeaked. “Don’t fucking talk to me that way. You’ve treated me like shit ever since I found out and I’m tired of it. Let’s face it, Randa, you need me. You came to me why?”

Tears glimmered in Miranda’s eyes. “... Because I had no one else to run to.”

“And you yell at me and call me a Tumblr slut who wants every girl and boy on Earth to be obese.” Clarisse released her. She was trembling. “I’m so happy that that’s what you think of me after everything I’ve done for you.”

Miranda’s eyes teared up. “I… I’m sorry. Clarisse… I… I’m sorry. I’m in so much pain. I’m so sorry. I don’t…” She hiccuped. “And I just keep hurting you. And hurting myself. And all I do is propagate the pain. And I don’t want that. It’s just… every time we talk about weight, or eating, I just get so angry because I feel so shitty and… I’m sorry.”

Clarisse studied her. “Damn right. Miranda…” She shook her head. “... If you were anyone else, I would have given up and told you to fuck off. But girlie, I promised you I’d be there. And I’m not the type who breaks promises.” She put her hands on Miranda’s shoulders and watched the tears fall from her eyes. “So you’re forgiven. I’m giving you another chance.”

“I don’t deserve it,” Miranda whispered. “Not after I called you a slut.”

Clarisse sighed. “You’re my friend. Friends get more chances.”

“... I’m sorry.”

“Shut up,” Clarisse sighed, pulling her into a hug. “Shut up.”

Miranda put her arms around Clarisse and held on.

A moment later, they separated. “... Let’s go get some food,” Clarisse suggested. “I’m kind of hungry.”

Miranda smiled up at her. “You’re a snake, you know that?”

“Trust me, I’m not that clever. Now let’s go get some food. The Big House recently got a tub of chocolate ice cream and you owe me one after you called me a Tumblr slut,” Clarisse chuckled, climbing down the ladder. “You coming?”

Miranda felt a smile taking over her face. “... Sure. But I don’t want to binge.”

“Trust me, you won’t. And I’ll put you through the ringer later, okay?” Clarisse smiled. “We’ll burn all the calories.”

“Sounds good,” Miranda laughed, following Clarisse out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miranda's recovering slightly, and I wouldn't feel right if she didn't find out about Clarisse's self-harm. So this might have about one more chapter.  
> Honestly, I've kind of winged this whole fic. It's been more straight-stream-of-consciousness than anything. Maybe if I come up with new material or edit it significantly I'll do a rewrite.


	6. "I don't want to be your problem."

“... So,” Lou Ellen asked gently, sitting next to Miranda. “... How’s it going?”

“... Better,” Miranda said. It was breakfast time again. Miranda, on Clarisse’s orders, was eating some waffles and sausage. She was sitting on a wall by the beach watching the waves. 

“... That’s good,” Lou replied. 

“And how are things going with you?” Miranda asked. 

“Good,” Lou Ellen responded. “Here, I got you this.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a box. She opened it and pushed it at Miranda. Inside was a pair of earrings; tiny roses made out of rose gold. 

“... They’re beautiful, Lou,” Miranda whispered, taking them from her. “These must have cost a bazillion; how did you afford these?”

“Ah, you know. I have my ways.” Lou winked.

“Lou,” Miranda said seriously. “Will I be arrested for possession of stolen property if I wear these?”

“Oh, no no no. These were paid for,” Lou laughed. “Nah, I wouldn’t get you in trouble on the back of my actions. These I got legally. I got some money left over from some other things. It’s all cool.”

“Lou…” Miranda shook her head. “You’re a disaster.”

“Yeah, but I’m a sexy disaster, and that’s what matters,” Lou laughed. 

Miranda rolled her eyes. “Do you ever worry that you’re gonna get pregnant? Or arrested? Or… _anything?”_

“Nah. Magic’ll take care of all of that. Magic or coat hangers.”

_“Lou!”_

Lou was laughing. “Ah, that was out of turn. Anyway… I gotta go. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Miranda shook her head. “I’m fine, Lou.”

“Good. Seeya later!” Lou yelled as she ran off. 

“Goodbye,” Miranda groaned. She swallowed the last of her breakfast. _I should check on Clarisse. It seemed like something was wrong yesterday. Something she wouldn’t tell me about. I should make sure she’s okay. I owe it to her._

Miranda put her dish in the dirties pile and started for the Ares cabin. On the way, she bumped into Sherman, who was leaving the cabin. “Oh, hey!”

“Hey, my girl.” Sherman kissed her cheek. “You look so healthy.”

“... Is that good?” Miranda asked.

“It’s great. You’re beautiful,” Sherman cooed. “I mean, Clarisse and I have our issues but she… she really does pull through when she tries. And I can tell she tried with you.”

“Issues is one way to put it,” Miranda laughed. “Clarisse… I’ve come to love her a lot but she’s crazy as it gets.”

Sherman put an arm around her waist. “You two have become close, haven’t you?”

“Yeah. I was just going to speak to her.”

“... Yeah, I’ll let you handle that,” Sherman giggled nervously. “Ellis and I are gonna go spar.”

Miranda scanned his face. His dark eyes gleamed. She leaned in and put a kiss to his lips. “Don’t get hurt.”

Sherman smiled. His cheeks were pink. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good luck!” Miranda shouted as she ran off.

“Thanks, my girl!” 

Miranda watched him leave before turning back to the front of the Ares cabin. She ducked through the barbed wire and knocked on the door. 

No answer.

 _Is she even in there?_ “Clarisse!” she yelled, knocking harder. “It’s me!”

No answer.

“... Clarisse? You in?”

“... The door’s fucking open,” came a quiet growl. “Come on in.”

Miranda cracked the door. She could see Clarisse’s legs dangling over her top-bunk bed. “... Clarisse? Can… can we talk?”

“Sure, why not.” Clarisse sounded upset. 

“... May I come up there?”

“... No,” Clarisse said. She sounded sniffly. “You can sit on Sherman’s bed if your legs are still tired. It’s the one with the little orange blanket on it.”

Miranda sat. “You sound sniffly.”

“Allergies,” Clarisse replied. “I get them really bad.”

“Need some allergy meds? I know Meg has some.”

“I don’t need anything your sister has. Besides, I already have some. I’m just waiting for them to kick in.”

“Okay,” Miranda soothed. “I’m glad you’re medicated.”

“... Yeah,” Clarisse whispered.

Miranda slipped off her shoes and lay down on her back. She looked up at the black metal bunk slats and wondered how many times Sherman had seen the same view. She took a deep breath and martialed her thoughts. “... Clarisse?”

“What?”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Clarisse grumbled.

“Are you sure?” Miranda whispered. 

She heard Clarisse take a shaky breath. “I’m fine.”

Miranda didn’t know what to say. “... Clarisse… we all have… secrets. A few weeks ago… you saw my… worst one,” Miranda managed. “And… it didn’t kill me. I thought it was going to but it didn’t. And you… you helped me. You helped me so much. You got my life back on track, my body back on track. It’s only been three weeks and I feel so much better. Clarisse… you’ve done everything for me. I _owe_ you one.”

“That you do. So stop prying,” Clarisse responded. “Miranda, I love you, but I’m gonna need you to butt out.”

Miranda was silent. “... I’m sorry, Clarisse. I just thought you might like to talk to someone. I mean… you’re acting like you have a… a secret. I figured maybe… it would help you if you told someone.”

“It’s not a secret. Chris knows.”

“... That’s good. How did he react when he found out about… whatever it was?”

“He…” Clarisse took a deep breath. “... he cried. He was crying. He was cool in front of me at first and then… and then he just _broke._ It was crazy. He was clinging to me and sobbing so hard. I didn’t… I didn’t even know how to react.”

“... Are you worried that I’ll cry?”

“... A little,” Clarisse whispered. “I mean, you have your own shit. I don’t want to be your problem. Especially not in a weak, wimpy, pussy, pissy kind of way.”

“You won’t be, Clarisse. I don’t think you’re weak. I don’t think I’ll ever see you as weak. No matter what,” Miranda soothed.

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.”

Clarisse was quiet. She sniffled again. “... Come up here.”

Miranda stood up and crawled up onto Clarisse’s bed. 

Now, Miranda wasn’t the swearing type. She’d always been told it was an unladylike thing to do, so she’d never adopted the habit. But what she saw up there could only properly be responded to with an “Oh, _shit!”_

Clarisse was lying on her back. She was shirtless. She wore only a sports bra and the same shorts she’d worn when they’d worked out earlier. Cuts— _deep_ cuts—littered her chest, snaking up from under her bra. They littered her shoulders, her belly—she had nice abs, Miranda noticed—and her hips going down into her shorts. She saw a few on her thighs, too. Some were healing, some were fresh. Some had clearly never been cleaned or cared for in any way.

Miranda almost tumbled off the bed.

“... Clarisse,” she whispered. “Clarisse, this is… this is _revolting._ ”

“... Not as revolting as your gaunt half-starved ass sobbing in that hospital bed,” Clarisse grumbled. 

“Don’t make this about me,” Miranda whispered, brushing Clarisse’s hair off of her cheek. Oh gods, she’d been crying. “Please. I… I didn’t mean it as an insult. It’s just… I’ve never seen anything this bad.”

“Didn’t you say Lou Ellen was super into this?” Clarisse muttered. Her eyes were focused on the ceiling. She didn’t—couldn’t?—meet Miranda’s eyes.

“Yeah, but… Lou kept it on her arms. That’s how she got shut down so quick.” Miranda hovered her hand over Clarisse’s torn-up abdomen. “Can I touch you? Would it hurt too much?”

“If you touch anywhere on my shorts, I’m breaking your hands.”

“I— _gods,_ Clarisse, I’m not going to _molest_ you!” Miranda gasped. She put her hand on Clarisse’s stomach. She traced the skin between the scars with a tender hand. “... How much does this hurt?”

“... Not very much. Just a little sting,” Clarisse whispered. Her eyes were wet.

“... Okay,” Miranda murmured. “... Here, I have some stuff in the Demeter cabin that’s good for stuff like this.”

Clarisse closed her eyes. A tear trickled down her temple. Miranda brushed it away. “... Okay. But… don’t tell anyone about this.”

“... Okay,” Miranda whispered. “I won’t.” She climbed out of Clarisse’s bed and ran across the cabin main to the Demeter cabin. She pulled a small glass jar with a misty green gel inside out of a cabinet above the bathroom sink and bolted for Cabin 5.

She pulled herself up onto Clarisse’s bunk. Clarisse hadn’t stirred. Her hands were crossed over her stomach. Miranda noticed she had some significant bruises on her knuckles. “Did you fight someone?”

“Eh. Sherman and I got into it last night. Just a little thing that the Ares cabin does sometimes. We fight each other if there’s no one else around to fight.”

“Is he hurt?”

“Not badly. Just a few bruises. I put a few on his chest. He put a few on me too.” Clarisse turned to Miranda, showing the remnants of a bruised cheek. “See?”

“Gods. Well, this is good for that too,” Miranda soothed. “You need me to rub it on your cheek?”

“... Sure. Only with the cheek, though, I can do the other stuff.”

“Okay.” Miranda leaned in and gently rubbed the cream on Clarisse’s bruised cheek. She could see the purple mark begin to fade. “Yeah, this has some ambrosia in it. It should make the wounds fade real quick. Works on scars, too.”

“Since when are you an Aphrodite kid?” Clarisse murmured.

“Since when does owning a bottle of three-in-one scar cream/wound disinfectant/wound healer make you as vain as an Aphrodite kid?” Miranda asked, pulling her hand away. 

Clarisse was silent. She sat up. Miranda put the jar of cream in her hand. Clarisse began to rub cream over the cuts on her arms. Miranda studied her. “... When did this start?”

“... After Manhattan,” Clarisse muttered. 

“... After Silena,” Miranda whispered. 

“... Yeah. Miranda, I… I… _I_ failed. _I. Failed._ She’s dead because I… because I…” Clarisse’s voice broke. “Because I… I picked my battles wrong.”

Miranda put a hand on her arm. “... That has to feel terrible.”

“... It does,” Clarisse whispered. Her hands stilled on the jar and she curled up on herself a little. “It does. I mean, if she had just… just _died,_ I think I might be able to start moving on, but… I can’t. Because I… I killed her. I killed her. I might as well have ran her through with my spear as soon as she came back to camp to negotiate with me because… I _doomed_ her, Miranda.” 

“Oh, Clarisse,” Miranda whispered. “Son of… I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Clarisse sighed. She blinked back tears. “... It isn’t your fault.”

Miranda took hold of her hands. “... I know. But… it hurts me to see you hurting this bad.”

“... I’m not a high-empathy person. I don’t know how you feel. But… I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.” She squoze Miranda’s hands. 

“I know,” Miranda whispered. She pulled her hands away and gave Clarisse a hug. “... But… I just don’t want you to suffer in silence after you’ve done so much for me.”

“Thank you,” Clarisse whispered. She took a deep breath and began to rub cream on herself again. “Thank you.”

Miranda watched her. Her fingers ran skillfully over her shoulders, her arms, her chest, under her bra and over her abs and thighs. She could see the skin begin to join and heal. 

“... This tingles,” she muttered.

“It does. But at least it doesn’t hurt, right?” Miranda suggested.

“... I guess so.”

Clarisse finished up. She gave the jar back to Miranda and pulled on a tee shirt. “... Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Miranda murmured. She put the jar aside. “Clarisse, may I…”

“May you what?”

“May I hug you?”

Clarisse looked down. She looked tired and broken. “... Sure.”

Miranda knelt over her, hovering over her legs so she wouldn’t hurt her marred thighs. She leaned Clarisse’s head against her chest, stroking her stringy hair. She felt her chest become wet. _Oh, no, oh, gods no, oh, Clarisse. Oh, don’t cry._ Miranda’s heart ached. Somehow, feeling Clarisse cry into her hurt worse than any other time someone had cried on her shoulder, including the time Sherman had came to tears while telling her about his mother’s death. “Oh, Clarisse,” she whispered. “Oh, my girl.”

Clarisse didn’t respond. Her shoulders shook. 

Miranda held her tight. The smell of blood still clung to her skin, mixed with the cool minty smell of the cream and that old inexplicable smell of leather. Her hair smelled oily, like it hadn’t been washed in a while, or like it was washed poorly when it was. It didn’t stink, though. 

After a few minutes, they separated. Miranda brushed tears off of Clarisse’s face. “... Your hair is really messy.”

“... My hair has always been gross. Used to drive Silena nuts,” Clarisse chuckled softly. 

“... Is that an Ares-kid thing?”

“Nah. I just… I mean, I’m in top physical health, but I never gave a damn for myself appearance-wise. And I can tell you, _that_ is an Ares-kid thing.”

“No, it is. I once asked Sherman what kind of shampoo he used and he said ‘yellow’.”

“We use the same stuff.”

“... Clarisse…” Miranda sighed. “Okay. I’m gonna lend you some of the stuff I use, and then your hair should…” She peeled apart one hair by its split end. “... not do this.”

Clarisse turned away. “... You’re acting like she would.”

“... I’m sorry,” Miranda whispered. She pulled her back against her.

Clarisse rested her head on Miranda’s chest and let herself be comforted. Miranda’s chest was soft. She smelled sweet. Clarisse could hear her heart beating. Such a soft and gentle sound. “... Thank you, girlie,” she whispered. “... Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Miranda whispered. “... Thank you, for everything you’ve done for me.”

Clarisse looked up. Her dark eyes were red and wet. “... You’re welcome. For everything. And… Miranda, I… you…” She sighed. “... Getting close to you was one of the best things I’ve ever done. Seriously. Like… I’m so glad you’re dating my brother. Gave me one of the best girlies I’ve ever met.”

Miranda didn’t know what to say. “... I’m… I’m so touched. Clarisse, I…” She put her forehead against Clarisse’s. Clarisse’s breath came warm and slightly sour across her lips and cheek. “... I don’t know what to say.”

“Then shut up,” Clarisse responded. 

There was a moment of silence. Both girls enjoyed the physical touch. There was no need to speak. Miranda rubbed Clarisse’s arms gently, trying hard not to disturb the wounds. Clarisse made a small noise.

“Sorry,” Miranda whispered. 

Clarisse pulled away. “... It’s okay.”

Miranda pulled away and sat down, rubbing her knees. “... I’m sorry. My knees hurt too bad. I can’t hold you like that anymore.”

Clarisse put an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry.”

Miranda looked off into the distance. “... What can I do to help you… with this?” Miranda asked, gesturing towards Clarisse’s arms, chest and stomach.

Clarisse shook her head. “Miranda, I… I don’t… Miranda, I don’t _want_ to stop.”

Miranda’s heart fell out of her chest. On some sick level, she understood. “... Do you think I wanted to stop skipping meals?”

“No, I-”

“Clarisse, I feel filthy. Every time I eat a meal I feel filthy. But I’m trying to quit. I’m doing it for you. Please, Clarisse,” she pleaded. “Do it for me.”

“... I feel sick,” Clarisse muttered. “I feel sick every moment of every day. This is my only relief. This and sparring. Other than that, nothing.”

Miranda leaned into her touch, taking her hand. “... I think we… we’re in similar situations.”

“... Yeah.”

“So… maybe…” Miranda studied her. “... every meal I eat, you have to resist once.”

“I can’t.” Clarisse’s voice was flat. “I can’t.”

“Clarisse…” Miranda took a deep breath. “This is… this is like… You’re going into battle, man. It’s you vs. this. I never thought I’d have to say this to you but… you have to _fight,_ Clarisse.”

A tear traced down Clarisse’s cheek. She was silent. “... Si- ah, Miranda, I… I’m vanquished. I was vanquished… I was vanquished the day she died.” Her voice broke. 

“... I know,” Miranda murmured. “I know. But… she’s been gone for four years, Clarisse. Four years.”

“You can't put a timer on grief,” Clarisse muttered. "You just can't."

 _Okay. Let’s try something else._ Miranda touched her hand. “Clarisse… she wouldn’t want you to do this.”

“... That’s exactly what Chris said,” Clarisse whispered. 

“He’s right,” Miranda murmured. “Clarisse, this would break Silena’s heart.”

Clarisse closed her eyes. “... I know.”

There was a pause. Miranda rubbed Clarisse’s bruised knuckles, firm enough to soothe but light enough to be painless. Clarisse finally spoke. “... Okay. I’ll try your suggestion. For every time you eat, I resist one urge.”

“... Okay.”

“Will it reset at the end of the day?” Clarisse asked.

“... Fine. At the beginning, sure. How many times a day…” Miranda gestured to Clarisse.

“I lose count,” Clarisse admitted.

“... Okay,” Miranda whispered. “... Would you say it’s at least two or three?”

“... If not more,” Clarisse whispered.

Miranda nodded. “Okay. Good. Then it should all even out.”

Clarisse nodded. She was silent.

“... Are you okay?” Miranda asked.

“... Tell me you aren’t gonna tell anyone.”

Miranda nodded. “... Okay. I won’t. If you can promise me you’ll make an effort to kick this, then I won’t tell anyone.”

Clarisse’s stomach twisted. “You got me by the balls, girlie. But… sure, I promise I’ll try.”

Miranda smiled. “Thank you so much, Risse. It really means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome, I… wait, did you just call me _Risse?”_

“... Yeah, I did. I’m sorry.”

Clarisse laughed. “... No, it’s just… that’s what _she_ called me.”

“... Oh, I’m sorry, I-”

“-You can still call me that, though. I don’t mind.” Clarisse’s face looked soft, somehow, which was rare.

Miranda took a breath. “... Thanks, Risse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually not 100% sure where this fic is going, or even if this is the last chapter. I'm leaving it up for debate until I decide on something. I mean, I'm so, so, sorry for it, I really am, but I just have no idea.  
> Also, this might get rewritten and edited at some point in the future, because this was a straight-stream-of-consciousness thing.


	7. "Did you ever resent her?"

"Did Nero touch you bad?" 

"... Excuse me?" Miranda asked, raising her eyebrow at Sherman, who was sitting next to her on her bed.

"You heard me." Sherman looked over at her with such an intense expression that she was afraid she was about to burst into flames. "Did he take your chastity?"

"... Not that I remember," Miranda replied softly. 

"Do you think there's anything you don't remember?" 

"Probably not. I mean… I don't think that's why he took us. I think… I think we were just bait to him, really." 

Sherman studied her face. "You sure? Because it could explain a lot of your…"

"Sherman _. Really._ I think I'd remember it if I had been molested somehow. Also, Will said that sexual abuse didn't cause… you know." 

"Will said this, Will said that! Will doesn't know everything, my girl."

Miranda decided not to argue with him about Will. “Sherman, I promise you, I did not get molested.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. 

“Then why…”

“I didn’t want to get fat.”

“But you were _hurting_ yourself.”

Miranda closed her eyes. “... I know.”

“Do you think… did someone tell you you’d be ugly if you got fat?”

“... Katie was perpetually worried about her weight. She used to skip meals, too. That’s how I learned about it. Then, when she left… that’s when I started doing it too. I guess… I guess in a way it made me feel close to her again, even after we’d fallen out.” Miranda leaned against Sherman. 

Sherman was quiet, prompting her to continue. “And… everyone always said that Katie was the prettiest girl they’d ever seen. It… it happened even more once she started skipping meals. I mean, every time we went anywhere as a family everyone would always tell my father that Katie was gorgeous. And that he was so lucky to be her dad. No one ever said that about me.”

“... Did your dad treat you like you were equally pretty?”

“He never noticed anything about our looks. I remember Katie dyed her hair blonde one day and it took him three days to notice. I mean, as long as we weren’t dressed like prostitutes or running around outside in pajamas or underwear he didn’t care. So I have no idea if he thought either one of us was beautiful.”

Sherman paused. “... I think you’re prettier than she is.”

Miranda nested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you. You’re the only one. I think… I think that’s why I love you.”

Sherman put an arm around her and held her close. He didn’t quite know what to say. “... I guess that’s what ties us together. We both spent our lives living in our sisters' shadows.”

Miranda nodded. “... Yeah. Eighteen years of being considered the ugly sister takes its toll.”

“And so does eighteen years of being the weakest brother,” Sherman responded. 

“But you’re not weak.”

“And you’re not ugly.”

“... Thanks,” Miranda murmured dejectedly. 

“... Just out of curiosity, do you and Katie ever speak?” Sherman asked. “Like, I know you two fell out a while ago, but have you ever even tried to talk about it?”

“... No. I never tried to speak to her. I guess… I guess I’m scared of trying. I… I guess it’s just that if I never speak to her then I… I don’t have to deal with it if she doesn’t want to reconcile,” Miranda sighed. 

Sherman nodded. He kissed the top of her soft curls. He was pleased to note that he didn’t get a mouthful of loose hair when he did. “... I think someday soon you should talk to her. Tell her how you feel. I mean… do you love her?”

“... I did. I did love her,” Miranda whispered.

“... Did you ever resent her?”

“... No. I resented the people for never telling _me_ I was pretty, but I never resented her. Because… let’s be honest, she _is_ prettier than me,” Miranda laughed. 

“Bullshit,” Sherman interjected. “Pure bullshit.”

“Oh, be quiet.” Miranda slapped his thigh gently. “But no, I never resented Katie. I mean, we were sisters. We lived in the middle of nowhere. We were each other’s best friends. We had to be.”

Sherman nodded. “Makes sense.”

There was a pause. Miranda kept her head down. Sherman stroked her hair. Finally, he spoke. “... I bet that felt good to get off your chest.”

Miranda nodded. “... It did a bit. … Yeah, I guess that’s why I always thought… I mean, Katie and I were sprouted from the same seeds. We should have been equally beautiful. I guess…” Her voice cracked and her lip trembled. “... I guess I always thought that it meant that there was something wrong with me.”

Sherman felt his heart twist. He pulled her into his lap and nested her head in his chest. “Oh, my girl.”

She sniffled and gasped softly. “... I’m sorry.”

He took her head in his hands and made her look in his eyes. Tears streamed from her eyes and ran over his fingers. “Miranda. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“... I’m sorry, I just… I thought I hurt you somehow. I’m sorry.” She blinked and tried to turn her head, but Sherman held her firmly.

“Miranda. Look at me. I want you to get this through your head.”

Miranda nodded. Her eyes were pouring tears. She felt like such shit, sitting there totally helpless and bawling like a kid. Unable to stop.

“There. Is. _Nothing._ Wrong. With. You.” Sherman’s dark eyes were intense. His voice shook with emotion. “Seriously. Nothing. I… oh, gods.” His voice came in an explosive sigh. He released her head and squoze her tight, so tight Miranda was afraid her ribs would break. “My girl.”

“Ow,” Miranda squeaked. 

“Sorry,” Sherman whispered, loosening his grip. His voice was still shaking. “... I’m getting overemotional.”

Miranda looked up and put a kiss on his lips. “It’s okay. I was the one who couldn’t stop crying.”

Sherman nodded. Miranda could see how affected he looked. “Thanks, my girl.” He took a deep breath. “Thanks.”

They held each other for a moment. Sherman stroked Miranda’s hair as Miranda let a few more tears slip into his collar. Sherman dried her eyes on the bottom of his shirt.

“... Thanks,” she whispered. 

He leaned in and put a kiss on her lips, soft and pink as little rose petals. His breath was warm across her cheek. He smelled like cheap deodorant and metallic blood. She felt the contact through her whole body. 

He pulled away. “Your chapstick tastes nice.”

Miranda gave a watery giggle. “Thanks. It’s watermelon.”

“Just tasted like sugar to me,” Sherman laughed. 

Miranda shook her head. “You’re funny.”

Sherman was about to respond when someone knocked on the door. “Oh, shit.”

“Nah, nah, it’s cool. I can handle this.” Miranda stood up and made for the door. A tall muscular brunette stood on the other side. “Oh, hi Clarisse.”

“Is Sherman here?” she asked.

“... Yeah, he is,” Miranda replied brazenly. “You need him?”

“I wanted to ask him if he and Ellis wanted to 2v1 me.” Clarisse examined Miranda’s face. “Have you been crying?”

“... A little. Sherman and I had a talk, that’s all,” Miranda replied.

Clarisse pushed her way inside. Miranda led her to her bed and she sat down. Miranda sat down in between them. “Care to tell me what this talk was about?”

Miranda told her the whole story. 

Clarisse kept her eyes focused on the ground. “... I’m sorry,” she murmured when Miranda finally finished. “I really don’t know what to say. I mean, if it’s any consolation, no one ever called me pretty either.”

“If it’s any consolation, there are plenty of Tumblr lesbians who would love a piece of you.”

Clarisse didn’t respond to that. “... Well, girlie, I’m glad you’re feeling better now. Uh…” She shifted. “... Sherman, about that 2v1…”

“Sure. Ellis and I’ll fight you. Let me guess, we just go until either you or both of us have collapsed?”

“Why not?” Clarisse responded, shrugging.

Miranda sighed. “May I at least watch?”

“Again, why not?”

Sherman shook his head. “Okay, I’m on. Just give me ten minutes to get into my armor.”

Clarisse consented. They stood up and went to go prepare for the spar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherman gets intense when he's upset.  
> Anyway, it's six in the morning, I've been up all night and I'm exhausted. I don't really want to sleep, though.  
> Also, I'm surprised this has run so long just considering how plotless it is. I'm liking writing this, though.  
> Also also, those stats about sex abuse not necessarily leading to anorexia came from a psychology textbook, so they're legit. Or at least they were legit. It was kind of an old textbook. Cuz it came from my school and they only replace those every 15 years or so.  
> Also also also, I do HC that Katie and Miranda make up eventually. I wrote a fic about it but it's not that good so I'm gonna try to rewrite it. When I do, it's gonna go up as being called "Ivy," for reasons you will see.


	8. Secret Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarisse is hurting a lot.

A month or so passed. Sherman recovered from the broken arm he’d received in the spar with Clarisse. Miranda had just finished taking Sherman to get his cast off. She was sitting on a crate in the weapons shed while Sherman tested his just-healed arm.

“... Look,” Miranda started, taking his arm in her hand. “It’s skinnier than your other one.”

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me I’ve lost muscle mass. It’ll take months to build this shit up again,” Sherman grumbled. 

Miranda kissed him. “I’m sure it won’t take that long.”

Sherman sighed. “Hope not. But look at this shit. I can’t even hold a sword that well.” He picked up a sword and maneuvered it around with a slight awkwardness. 

Miranda patted the crate next to her, gesturing him to sit down. “Seriously, you’re not as bad off as you think you are. I’ll tell Clarisse to go easy on you.”

“I think the only person Clarisse has ever gone easy on in her life was you, Miranda,” Sherman sighed, flopping down next to her and leaning on her shoulder. 

“That’s not true,” Miranda sighed, rubbing his shoulder. 

“Right. Silena,” Sherman reasoned. 

Miranda nodded. “And Chris, too. I’m sure I can get her to go easy on you.”

Sherman shook his head, but he didn’t respond. 

Miranda looked up at the ceiling. Something occurred to her. “Have you seen Clarisse at all today? Was she even at breakfast?”

“I mean, I saw her when I woke up this morning. It’s not like she left camp. But no, she wasn’t at breakfast. She said her stomach was fucked up.”

Miranda nodded sympathetically. “Oh, dear. Does she need the infirmary?”

“I mean, you could ask her, but she’d just tell you to go fuck yourself.”

“She wouldn’t,” Miranda replied. “Not to me.”

Sherman nodded. “... Probably not.”

“I hope not,” Miranda replied. “I’m gonna go make sure she’s all right.” She stood up to leave.

Sherman took her arm gently. “Hey, before that…”

Miranda sat back down, charmed a bit by the sudden gentleness of his voice. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for being at breakfast this morning.”

Miranda blushed hotly. “... You’re welcome.”

“No, seriously. I’m so thankful you’re doing all that you’re doing. You’ve been so strong and so good about all of this and about sharing with me and Clarisse and… I’m happy. Thank you so much.”

Miranda couldn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks.”

“You all right?” Sherman asked.

 _I’m fucking fat and shitty, how the hell do you justify liking this to yourself?_ “I’m fine, Sherman,” she replied flatly. “I’m gonna go check on Clarisse now.”

“Why are you mad at me?” Sherman called at her retreating back.

“I’m not,” Miranda sighed. “I just don’t know why you have a fat fetish is all.”

“... I… don’t?” Sherman replied. “I just don’t want you starving yourself to death.”

“I don’t want to have this fight right now,” Miranda sighed. “It isn’t my fault you’re blind.”

Sherman shook his head. “I’m sorry that that’s how you feel. I don’t think you’re fat, but that’s one man’s opinion. I can’t change what you think.”

“... Do I have a double chin?” Miranda suddenly asked.

“Nope.”

“What about…”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

Miranda scanned his face. “You’re too nice to me.” She leaned in and kissed his lips. “Seriously, I love you, okay?”

Sherman smiled warmly up at her. “Love you too.”

“I’m gonna go find Clarisse, okay?”

“Okay,” Sherman whispered.

Miranda crossed the camp to the cabin main, lost in thought. She wondered if Clarisse was upset and tried to think of why. Sherman hadn’t told her about anything bad happening. More things spun in her mind. Chris? No, they didn’t fight much, and when they did, Clarisse started it. What day was it? It was August. The last date she remembered was the tenth, and that had been a week ago when they’d had their last head counselor’s meeting… 

_Crap._ Miranda stopped in her tracks. It was the seventeenth. That meant that it was the third anniversary of… _oh, gods._ Her heart twisted. She broke into a sprint and ran for the Ares cabin. _She shouldn’t be alone. Not now. Not today._

She practically crashed into the door of the Ares cabin, banging on it hard. “Clarisse!”

The door slammed open. Clarisse looked terrible. Her hair was matted. Her eyes were red. “What? What’s happening? Are we getting attacked?”

“I… are you okay?” Miranda gasped. 

Clarisse looked at her, visibly baffled. “I’m… fine? Are you okay?”

“... I’m alive,” Miranda said. “May I come in?”

Clarisse nodded and ushered her in. She wasn’t wearing armor—she never did when she was in the cabin—but her cloak was wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Like it was when she was feeling sad. “Seriously, what’s going on? You look panicked.”

She sat down in Sherman’s bed. “I… Sherman told me you weren’t feeling well.”

Clarisse burst out laughing. “So… you came running here in a panic because you thought I was sick?”

“No, I came running here in a panic because today is the third anniversary of the Battle of Manhattan and I wanted to make sure you weren’t in here feeling terrible about Silena,” Miranda blurted.

Clarisse’s face fell. She wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. “Wow. Tact is just _dead_ with you.”

Miranda deflated. “I mean… I was worried.”

“Doesn’t mean you should be a punk about it.”

“... I’m sorry. I presented it badly. The point is… I was worried about you.”

“Appreciate the concern,” Clarisse said, standing up. “Excuse me a moment, please.”

Miranda wanted to tell her not to leave, but the words wouldn’t come. Clarisse stumbled into the bathroom in the back and shut the door. _Maybe her stomach really is acting up. I mean, after all, I could have been wrong in thinking she was upset. I mean, maybe she didn’t even know what day it was._

Clarisse came out a moment later and climbed into her bed. Miranda followed her. “You all right?” 

Clarisse nodded. “Yeah. My… my…” She shook her head wordlessly and pulled her cloak tighter around herself. “I told you I didn’t feel well.”

“Do you need to go to the infirmary?”

“No! No, I’m fine.” Clarisse didn’t meet Miranda’s eyes. 

Miranda thought briefly about offering ambrosia and nectar, then realized it would just erase any marks she put on herself. “You sure? You seem nervous.”

“I told you. I don’t feel well.”

“Why would you be nervous about telling me that? And why are you rejecting help?”

Clarisse set her jaw. “I’m not here for you to talk shit on and shame like some little bitch.”

“... I wasn’t trying to shame you, Clarisse,” Miranda sighed. “Look, do you want me to leave? And if I do leave, are you gonna turn around and start hurting yourself?”

“Stop fucking interrogating me. Look, do you _want_ a fight? Because you’re acting like someone who wants a fight.”

“I don’t want to fight you either, Clarisse. I’m sorry that it feels like you’re being interrogated. I’m just concerned is all. Here, you wanna hug it out?”

Clarisse sighed. “Fine,” she relented. 

Miranda wrapped her in her arms. She leaned her head heavily into Miranda’s chest. Miranda stroked her hair. “I’m sorry. I failed in this conversation. I really did.”

Clarisse didn’t respond. She sighed and sniffled. 

“... Are you crying?” Miranda asked.

“... No,” Clarisse whispered. “... Maybe a little.”

Miranda didn’t say anything, merely ran her fingers through her hair and neck. 

Clarisse took a deep breath and held it, composing herself. “... I’m sorry. I didn’t… I’m just…”

“No, I understand,” Miranda replied. “You’re hurting, aren’t you?”

Clarisse pulled her head away. Miranda saw two spots of water on her chest where her head had been. “... Yeah. I guess so.”

“... Is it because…”

Clarisse nodded.

Miranda held her, stroking her hair. “... I’m so sorry,” Miranda murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

Clarisse sniffled. She rested her head against Miranda’s chest. She smelled like roses, _roses,_ same as Silena had. Her hands were small, with slender fingers. Like Silena’s. The only difference were the calluses on her little fingertips. Clarisse’s heart ached. “I… I’m sorry. It all… it all comes back on days like this.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“... No,” Clarisse denied. She rested her head in Miranda’s chest for another few minutes. “... Yes.”

Miranda nodded, but stayed silent, prompting her to continue. She rubbed her back.

“... When… when the Doors of Death were open, I… I went on… on a little solo mission to the Underworld. My grandma has a place in Phoenix, so I just drove out to Frisco from her place and paid my way through on the ferry. I told the guy I died in a bulldozing accident. He didn’t ask any questions. Anyway, I went to… to…” Clarisse sniffled. “I wanted to… I wanted to get her back. She… she refused, obviously. She said… she said…” Clarisse held her breath. 

Miranda held her, running her fingers through her hair. “What did she say?”

“... She said she was happy.”

“... That’s what’s important, right?”

“... Yeah. She said she was with Beckendorf and she was happy. She said… she said… she said it would be unnatural if I brought her back.” Clarisse sniffled. “I guess she just cares more about him than she cares about me.”

Miranda stayed quiet. She continued to stroke Clarisse’s hair, as egregiously greasy as it was. “... I… I think you really… I think she was in an impossible situation. I… I mean, I don’t… I don’t know what I would do if I were in Silena’s situation. I mean… choosing between my best friend and my boyfriend… that’s horrible.”

Clarisse nodded. “... And… I don’t have any ill will against her. I can’t. I love her too much. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had. And I’m glad she’s happy. But… I just…” Clarisse closed her eyes, her lip trembling, tears dripping down her cheeks. Too much pain. “... it hurts. It just… it hurts to be rejected like that.”

“Of course,” Miranda soothed. “Of course it hurts. But… I’m sure she loves you too. And I know that she wants to have you down there with you. She’d love to have you there. Not like… she _wants_ you to die, but… she wants you and she and Beckendorf to all be together and happy.”

Clarisse sniffled. “... No, I know. And… sometimes I want that too. I… I want to get into a fight and just… float off. Go to where she is. You know?”

“... You want to die?” Miranda asked, running her fingers over her back. 

“... A little. Sometimes.”

Miranda buried her face in Clarisse’s hair. She wanted to hold her even tighter, somehow, she wished she could grow to giantess size and just envelop her. “... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish… I wish I could do more to help.”

Clarisse lay her head against Miranda for a few moments more. She pulled away, lying down. Her eyes were bloodshot. “No, girlie, you’re wonderful. You’ve done more than enough considering your own situation. Seriously, you’ve done more than enough.”

Miranda could tell that Clarisse had been crying before she’d been there. She felt a sudden urge to wash her face and hair. Clean her up somehow. “... Don’t make this about me.”

Clarisse buried her head into her pillow. “You’re recovering. And I’m not.”

“... You’re not getting better? With the… the…” She stroked over a scar on Clarisse’s arm. 

“... I’m… I’m getting a little better, but… not… I’m not doing as well as you.”

Miranda twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “... I mean, I’m still fat. I’m just too hardened to care anymore. Also, Sherman said he didn’t care, so…” Miranda shrugged. “Who cares?”

“... You’re still not fat. You’re getting heavier because you’re gaining some muscle now, that’s all. The fact that you look healthier, that you have some color in your cheeks and some meat on your bones… that’s proof that you’re getting better. And… ” Clarisse threw her cloak over her shoulders and pulled up her shirt, revealing new lacerations over her abs. “... I’m not.”

Miranda took it all in. She didn't know how to respond other than to lean down and hold her again, pressing their foreheads together, running her fingers over her neck. “... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Is… is it all because of… of Silena, or...”

Clarisse looked up into Miranda’s eyes. “... I… I don’t know. I think so. I… I mean… I don’t know what…” Clarisse looked away. “I don’t even know what else would… hurt me like this.”

Miranda sat so Clarisse’s head was in her lap. She stroked her hair. “... Okay. I mean… Silena wouldn’t…”

“She wouldn’t want this. I know,” Clarisse sniffled. 

“... Yeah,” Miranda whispered. 

There was a silence. A few tears dripped out of Clarisse’s eyes. Miranda brushed them away. Finally, Clarisse spoke. “... There’s like a hole in my memory for about a year. I don’t remember anything from when I was six to when I was seven. I don’t… I don’t know if that’s relevant.”

“I mean, at that age, it’s not… too unusual? I don’t really know.”

“I don’t either. I don’t know if I… if I’m repressing something or not. I try to remember things from that year, but I don’t get much.” Clarisse shook her head. “Only a vague memory involving a policewoman who brought me a box of cookies in… I guess it would have to be a hospital, because it was a white room and… and the bed had bars on the sides.”

“... That’s strange. I mean…” Miranda sighed. “It’s easy to catastrophize with stuff like this. It was probably nothing. I mean, maybe it wasn’t even a policewoman. Who knows?”

Clarisse nodded. “... Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe… maybe as time goes on I’ll remember more.”

Miranda nodded. “Maybe. Maybe dunk yourself in the Mnemosyne or something.”

“Oof. I don’t want to remember _everything_ I’ve ever done,” Clarisse chuckled. 

Miranda ruffled her hair. “No, I get it. It was only a joke.”

Clarisse nodded. There was a pause. Miranda heard a knock at the door. “... Crap. Someone’s here.”

Clarisse nodded. “Here’s hoping it’s not Chiron. Or someone who’ll tattle like a little bitch.”

Miranda answered the door. It was Chris. “Never mind, Clarisse. It’s not a tattletale.” She turned and scaled the ladder again, settling at the foot of Clarisse’s bed, leaning against the wall with her feet hanging over the side.

Chris laughed. “The opposite, really.” He entered the cabin and sat down on the bunk under Clarisse’s. “Hey, Clarisse, you all right?”

“Because it’s an inauspicious day or whatever? How the fuck do you think I am?”

“Not well, I’m guessing,” Chris murmured. “Can I climb up there and see you?”

Clarisse wanted to cry. “... Fine.” She drew her cloak tightly around herself, covering the fresh injuries. 

Chris climbed into Clarisse’s bunk. She leaned her head into his lap. He stroked her hair with a gentle hand. “... I don’t know what to say to make you feel better.”

Clarisse sniffled. “... Then… then don’t say anything.”

“... Okay,” Chris whispered, running gentle hands through her hair. “I won’t.”

There was a silence. Miranda watched Chris stroke Clarisse’s cheek and hair. She marveled at his tenderness. She thought back to Sherman, his fierceness, the way he loved her, like it was a battle and he could be the only winner. Sherman was not tender, not usually. He was wanting, protective, she knew he would do anything for her, but he was not tender. 

She wondered if he was feeling any better. She knew that deep inside himself he was scared. Scared of being usurped by Clarisse, who had basically given him the position so she could attend college but now that she was back for the summer at least could easily take it again. Scared of being usurped by Ellis, who everyone knew had always wanted to be on top. She wanted to find some way to ease his mind, but she didn’t know how.

She was jolted out of her thoughts by Chris gasping. She looked up to see that Chris had pulled Clarisse’s cloak off, revealing her body, her bare stomach, the cuts that laced her stomach, a horrid veil. “ _Clarisse!”_

Clarisse buried her face in Chris’s thigh. She couldn’t say anything. Her throat choked violently, tears stabbed at the corners of her eyes, she couldn’t breathe. Shame twisted her gut. She hated being this emotional, but she didn’t know what else to do. The panic in Chris’s voice was too much for her to bear. “... I… I…”

“... You couldn’t help it, could you?” Chris whispered, his voice trembling. “It hurt too badly, didn’t it?”

Clarisse nodded. “Don’t cry. Please.”

Chris closed his eyes. “... Please, let me… let me…”

Clarisse sat up just enough to fall into Chris’s arms, clinging with her arms around his neck. Her tears fell into Chris’s collar. “... Why?” she squeaked. “Why did… why did…”

“Because the world is cruelly unforgiving, that’s why,” Chris whispered, kissing the side of Clarisse’s jaw. 

“I know, but… why does it always happen to the people who are so… so _good?_ ”

“... I don’t know, Clarisse. I don’t. The Fates are cruel.”

Clarisse hiccuped painfully. She sniffled. “... Fuck, I… I don’t… I just wish… I mean, I was so, so close, I should… I could…”

“... Don’t blame yourself, Clarisse. It’s too far after the fact to change anything.”

“But I could have saved her. And I could have brought her back. But… I couldn’t, and she… she wouldn’t…” Clarisse sobbed. “She wouldn’t let me.”

Chris squoze her. “... I’m sorry.”

Clarisse sobbed into Chris’s shoulder, her whole body shook. Miranda put a hand on her shoulder, trying to bring some comfort. “I’m sorry, too,” Miranda whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Nothing more was said. It was a long time before Clarisse caught her breath fully, her sobs easing, her chest relaxing. She didn’t move from Chris’s arms even after she stopped crying and Chris didn’t try to move her. Finally, he kissed the top of her head and murmured “You feel any better?”

Clarisse nodded slightly. “Not… not very much.”

“... Okay,” Chris whispered. “That’s okay. I don’t expect you to feel better right now. I just.. I don’t want you to… to… to…”

“Shut up,” Clarisse whimpered weakly. “Shut up.”

Chris nodded. “... Okay.”

“He loves you,” Miranda cut in. “He really does. He just… he just doesn’t… he doesn’t want you to hurt yourself is all. That’s… that’s why he’s upset.”

“I know,” Clarisse whispered. “I know. I don’t want… I don’t want to make him sad but…” Clarisse shook her head. 

“It hurts. It hurts. Badly. And you’re having trouble. And you… you know how to fight but you don’t know how to fight this. And that’s frustrating as anything for you, I bet,” Miranda cut in.

Clarisse nodded. Her eyes were glazed over and half-lidded, her lips were parted. She looked exhausted. “... It is.”

“May I come closer?” Miranda whispered, scooting closer to Clarisse.

Clarisse nodded. Miranda moved in, holding her awkwardly, sandwiching her between her and Chris. Clarisse sniffled. 

Miranda saw her face contort again, a few tears rolling down her cheeks. “Hey, don’t cry. She wouldn’t want you to cry for her. She loved you more than anything.”

“Not more than Beckendorf,” Clarisse whispered.

Miranda didn’t know what to say to that. She rubbed Clarisse’s back with a tender hand, trying to give some measure of healing. “... I’m so sorry.”

Clarisse brushed tears out of her eyes. “... I’m sorry for crying so much. I… I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t cry like this. I’m stronger than that.”

“... Even strong people need to let it out sometimes,” Chris broke in. “I don’t want you to hold it all in all the time, especially when you’ve been through what you’ve been through.”

Clarisse sniffled. She met Chris’s eyes, her own filled with brutal suffering. “... Okay… okay. I… I’ll try. I’ll… I’ll try.”

“That’s my tough girl,” Chris whispered, rubbing Clarisse’s back. “I know you can deal with this. This… none of this will end you unless you let it.”

Clarisse looked at Miranda, her eyes desperate. Miranda remembered how she’d told her she wanted to die and wondered if Chris had any idea. “... I’m with Chris here, Clarisse. I think you can fight back. I think you can beat this… this pain.”

Clarisse nodded. She didn’t say anything. 

“... Are you tired? Do you want to sleep?”

Clarisse nodded. She lay down and closed her eyes, burying her face in the pillow. Miranda leaned against her, holding her hand. Miranda listened as Clarisse’s breathing became softer and more gentle. “Clarisse?”

No answer.

“I think she’s asleep,” Chris replied. 

“... Okay. Chris, I… I have to talk to you about something. Clarisse… I’m really worried.”

“About?”

“She… she told me… she told me that… that sometimes she just wanted to ‘float away’ and ‘join Silena’,” Miranda blurted. “And… and I worry that… that she wants to… wants to die.”

The exhaustion lines around Chris’s eyes deepened. “... I… I don’t know how to respond, I… I’m _scared_ now, Miranda.”

“I am too. I mean… even back when I wasn’t eating for days on end I… I never wished I were _dead_ , I…” Miranda shook her head. She held Clarisse a little closer. “... I don’t know.”

“... Should we tell Chiron?” Chris asked.

“What could he even do? I mean, it’s not like locking her up would do any good. I mean, there aren’t any shrinks for demigods. There aren’t any demigod looney bins. No one could do anything for her unless we wanted to break the secret of demigod-ness to the world, and _I_ sure as hell don’t want to be experimented on. And you know that’s what would happen if we were found out.”

“... I know,” Chris whispered. His eyes filled. “... I… I’m just so scared. I don’t… Clarisse is… she… I mean, I can’t even begin to describe how much I owe her. I don’t… I don’t want her to… to… to die.” His voice tapered to a whisper. 

Miranda nodded. “I mean, I owe her too. Not as much as you, but… I don’t want her to die either. She’s my best friend.”

“... I know,” Chris whispered. “I… I want to tell Chiron. I really do. I… I think he should know. He’s… he’s just seen more stuff. He might know what to do.”

Miranda shrugged. “Look, if you think there’s even a slim chance it would do something, go ahead. Do whatever you need to do to be comfortable.”

“... Okay,” Chris whispered. “... I’m gonna go do that right now. You wanna stay here, or…?”

“... Yeah, I’ll do that,” Miranda whispered. “I don’t want her to be alone.”

“... Okay,” Chris replied. He shimmied down out of the bunk and headed for the door. “I’m gonna go find Chiron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for there to be such a big gap between the last chapter and this one. The next one will be out quicker, I promise.  
> Also, Sherman's arm is fine. He just lost some muscle mass in it in the time it was in the cast due to lack of use.  
> Honestly, I have no idea how long this fic is gonna run. Just bear with me and maybe I'll eventually finish it.


	9. Chris's Concerns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This really should have been part of the last chapter, but it wasn't, so whatever.

Chiron was in his office when he heard a knock on his door. He rose from his wheelchair and opened the door. “Oh… Chris. How are you feeling? No problems with your head?”

“No, sir. I just… I’m scared for Clarisse,” Chris blurted. “Miranda said… she told me she said she wanted to… wanted to die.”

Chiron raised his eyebrows. “Gods. I didn’t expect it out of _her,_ of all people. I had… I had no idea. I guess she just… I don’t quite know.”

“... What do you want us to do? I’ll… I’ll do anything,” Chris begged.

“I think we should wait a day or so. It _is_ the third anniversary of the Battle of Manhattan. If she isn’t in any better spirits by then…” Chiron trailed off.

“If she isn’t in any better spirits by then what?”

“... This happens too often,” Chiron said suddenly. “Good demigods have _something_ happen to them and they… they just break. And they don’t have any energy to live any more after that. I’ve seen it more times than I can remember.”

“Is… is there anything I can do to help her?” Chris whispered. 

“... You have to be there for her,” Chiron replied. “She needs friends. She needs love.”

“She needs _therapy,”_ Chris begged. “I mean… I… how else can she get better? I mean, she's going back to college in the fall as well. She'll be away from all her friends."

“... Play therapist if you must,” Chiron sighed. “I mean, no one else is more qualified to help her. As you probably already know, there aren’t any demigod counselors out there. And you'll be with her in Phoenix as well.”

“... I don’t know. I mean… I just don’t want to accidentally make it worse.”

Chiron studied him. “... You won’t.”

Chris prayed that was true. He didn’t know what to say, so he bid Chiron a quiet goodbye and left his office, walking across the camp green deep in thought. _I don’t know what to do. Chiron’s either not taking it seriously or his hands are just so tied that there’s legitimately nothing he can do. And I… I have no idea what to do. Oh, Risse, Risse, what can I do for you? How can I help you? Risse, Risse, Risse._

He slipped back into the Ares cabin. Miranda was curled up next to Clarisse, also asleep. They were wrapped up in Clarisse’s blanket, cuddling. Chris couldn’t help but smile. They looked comfortable. 

Chris put a small kiss on Clarisse’s forehead. “... I love you,” he whispered. “... More than anything, I love you.”

Clarisse stirred somewhat in her sleep, but didn’t wake. 

Chris climbed down out of the bed. He sat down on the bed under hers, a few small tears leaking from his eyes. Gods. His poor heart. Seeing those lashes across Clarisse’s abdomen had hurt him terribly. He didn’t want to cry, but he didn’t know what else to do.

He hadn’t felt this helpless since the Labyrinth. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, alternatively crying and staring off into space, before he heard movement from the bunk above. “... Clarisse?”

“... Not she,” came a light feminine voice. “What did Chiron say?”

“... You were right. There aren’t any demigod therapists. He also said this was… this was common, so…” Chris shrugged. “... I don’t know why there aren’t any demigod therapists.”

“... Katie told me therapy doesn’t work,” Miranda suddenly said. “She said it was all BS and that it was a government racket to milk money out of the desperate.”

“Jeez. When did she say that?”

“A while ago. Back when… back when we still talked to each other.”

“... Did you believe her?” Chris asked.

“... Well… let’s just say that I wouldn’t be even suggesting the demigod-therapist jam if I didn’t believe this was serious,” Miranda giggled.

“... Okay,” Chris whispered. “... Well… it’s not an option anyway. I’m just worried because she… she’s going off to college in the fall and… you won’t be around to help her.”

“I’ll still call,” Miranda soothed. “I can still IM. And you’ll be there. That’s important.”

“... I know,” Chris murmured. “It’s just… I worry.”

“And that makes sense,” Miranda soothed. “But there’s really not much we can do. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”


	10. "Less. Less is good."

Some months passed. Miranda called Clarisse every week. She seemed okay, busy, but okay. She was pursuing a degree in weapons tech. Miranda was just glad she found something she enjoyed.

It was January when she returned, finally, to Camp Half-Blood. Miranda was brushing snow off of the strawberry plants when she saw her pickup truck rumble in. She ran for her as soon as she jumped out of the truck. “Risse!”

Clarisse jumped, turning around and getting into a fighting stance before giggling and throwing her arms out. “Dammit, girlie, you scared me!”

“I’m sorry,” Miranda laughed, falling into Clarisse’s arms. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You feel healthy,” Clarisse observed, hugging her tight. “Nice and well-fed.”

Miranda tried to step away, but Clarisse’s toned arms held her firmly. “... Is that good?”

“Yeah, it is good. You look so much better than you did when I left you.”

Miranda blushed. “Thanks.” She opted to change the subject. “So… how are things going with you?”

Clarisse shrugged. “Fine. College is fine. I’m off for a few weeks I think.”

“That’s great!” Miranda laughed, leaning into Clarisse a bit more. “And you feel okay?”

Clarisse ruffled her hair. “... Yeah, I’m okay.” She released Miranda. “Unless you wanted to go more personal, in which case I don’t want to talk about it here.”

“...Can we talk somewhere else, then?” Miranda asked.

“Fine, fine,” Clarisse laughed. “How about the Big House basement?”

“... Sure,” Miranda replied. “Let’s go.”

Clarisse bid Chris goodbye for a moment as he wanted to go say hello to his brothers anyway and a minute later, the two girls were sitting on a crate in the pitch dark of the Big House basement, their hips touching. “... We were really worried about you when you left.”

“I know. Chris told me,” Clarisse replied. “He thinks I should go… I should go to therapy. I told him… I mean, I get where he’s coming from but…”

“It wouldn’t help. None of your issues can be explained to a mortal shrink,” Miranda cut in. She snorted, bitterly.

“What was that snort for?” Clarisse asked.

“... No, I’m just thinking that… I mean,  _ I  _ could have gone to a mortal shrink for what my issues were.”

Clarisse was silent for a while. Miranda felt her sigh. “... What were your issues?”

“... I mean, I was always the ugly sister, for starters.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Shut up,” Miranda replied weakly. “You’ve seen Katie. She’s beautiful. Or at least, that’s what everyone else always said. Also… Katie used to skip meals. I mean, Katie did the whole deal. She skipped meals, purged herself, the works. And when she was doing it? They said she was even more beautiful than before.”

“... I think you told me this before,” Clarisse murmured. 

Miranda felt her wrap an arm around her. “... Yeah. I think I did. It was last July, right? The day you broke Sherman’s arm in that spar?”

Clarisse laughed. “Yeah. That was funny. He screamed so loud. Anyway, yeah, I think it was then. Also… I’m just gonna say, as far as I know, you’re in a committed relationship and Katie’s not. So…” Clarisse shrugged and huffed. “I think that says something about your desirability versus hers.”

Miranda felt warm fuzzies in her chest. “... Thanks.”

Clarisse pet her hair gently. “... Of course.”

Miranda leaned into the touch. “Wait, didn’t we come down here to talk about  _ you?” _

Clarisse huffed. “Right. We did. You were gonna nag me about this?” Clarisse pulled up her shirt. 

Miranda couldn’t see much in the dim light. “... Can we get some light on… on… you, please?”

Clarisse pulled a dagger from her belt. In the dim glow of the Celestial bronze, Miranda could see thin pink scars across her stomach. “This better?”

“... Much,” Miranda replied. “... Clarisse, did you…”

“... Less,” Clarisse replied quietly. “Less.”

Miranda wrapped her arms around her, holding her gently. “... Less is good.”

“Yeah,” Clarisse whispered. “... Less is good.”

“... Is it still… still mostly about… her?”

Clarisse nodded. “... Yeah. It’s… it’s… almost always about her.”

“...  _ Almost _ always?” Miranda released her so she could look in her eyes. She looked distant, untouchable, cold, but Miranda could tell it was all a facade. Her last defense against breaking into tears.

“... Yeah.”

“... Maybe someday… you could tell me… tell me what else makes you want to hurt yourself,” Miranda tried. “I mean, I’m not a therapist, but… maybe telling it to someone could… it could help. Like… after Sherman and I had that… had that talk, I felt… I mean, I… it was a lot better. You know?”

“You mean the one about Katie?”

“Yeah,” Miranda replied. 

“Okay.” Clarisse was quiet for a long time. She seemed lost in thought. “I guess… I could tell you some of it. Or… the part you already know, anyway.”

“... Okay,” Miranda whispered. 

She stayed quiet, prompting Clarisse to continue. “I just… okay. Chris has… he has these really bad… these really bad nightmares. And he wakes up… he wakes up screaming, crying, barely lucid… I mean, it’s horrible to watch. And every time it happens, I…” Clarisse’s voice broke. “... I get so… so  _ scared,  _ because… he couldn’t fight it once before, will he be able to fight it today? Tomorrow? Next week? Will I… will I come home and find that he’s lost it again and is curled up in the fetal position crying and shaking and screaming about… about Mary, whoever that is? I mean… oh, gods, I… I love him so much, I just… I don’t want… I don’t want…”

Miranda held her again, curling her into a hug. “... You don’t want to lose him. I know.”

Clarisse leaned her head into Miranda’s shoulder, melting into her. She was as soft as Clarisse had remembered, and she still smelled like fruit and flowers. Clarisse had found she’d missed it. “... I don’t want to lose him.”

“... Well, Dionysus… he’s sane because of Dionysus’s magic, right?”

Clarisse sniffled. “... Right.”

“... I think… I think you just have to trust that, Risse. I mean… I don’t think Dionysus would just… just plunge him back into insanity. Not without a good reason, anyway. So…” Miranda could feel Clarisse relax as she spoke. “I think you’re good on that front.”

“... You’re… you’re right,” Clarisse whispered. Her voice broke. “... You’re right.” 

Miranda could feel cool drops hit her neck. “... So… it’ll be okay.”

“... It’s okay,” Clarisse whispered. “It’s okay.” 

There was a pause. Clarisse pulled away, wiping tears from her hazy eyes. “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” Miranda asked. “I don’t care if you cry on me.”

“I know, I just…” Clarisse sighed, crossing her arms.  _ I’m shaking. I’m fucking shaking. All my training is a joke.  _ “... I feel bad.”

“I get it,” Miranda soothed. “I’m just telling you it’s okay to cry if you have to. You’ve been through so much. I don’t… I don’t want you to hold it all in if it means you write it on your skin for all eternity. I mean… what I saw back when… back in July, I… it looked so painful, it… it just broke my heart, Risse. I didn’t… I didn’t know how to respond to it. I’m just happy I didn’t start screaming.”

“... I’m sorry, Miranda, I… I never wanted to hurt you. I hope… I hope you know that.”

“I know you never meant to hurt me. I just… you have to understand, you’re a very low-empathy person but… I’m not. I’m a lot more empathetic than you are and… and when I see you all… all cut up and bloody it… it hurts. It hurts me a lot,” Miranda murmured. 

“... I… I guess it’s like… it’s like when I see Chris in tears,” Clarisse replied. “When I worry because he’s in so much pain.”

“It’s a lot like that,” Miranda replied. The smile in her voice was obvious as she spoke. “I worry about you because you’re hurting so badly you’re hurting yourself.”

“... I guess that’s understandable,” Clarisse sighed. “I mean… I was… I was worried about… worried about you too. Miranda, you’re… I can tell you’re eating, but…”

“Oh, I still feel disgusting. But it’s okay, kind of,” Miranda sighed.

“... That sounds not okay. But I’ll take your word for it,” Clarisse sighed. “Just… don’t be afraid to come to me for help. I want to help you.”

Miranda couldn’t help but smile. “Same for you. Come to me if you feel bad, okay? I’ll help you, I promise.”

“... I’ll try,” Clarisse murmured. “I’ll do my best.”

“You can fight this,” Miranda murmured, taking Clarisse in a hug. “I know you can. You’re so strong. You’ll make it. My girl.”

“... Thanks,” Clarisse whispered, returning the hold. “Same goes for you, girlie.”

There was a long pause as the two girls held each other. Miranda marveled, once again, at Clarisse’s immense physical strength, an almost painful irony when in context of their conversation. Someone so strong was suddenly so, so weak. It felt almost ridiculous to her.

Finally, they parted. Clarisse sighed and looked towards the door. “... I should go tell Sherman and Ellis I’m here. I mean, they don’t care much, but…”

“I think they care more than you think,” Miranda chided gently. 

“Well, they shouldn’t. Not with how I treat them,” Clarisse sighed. 

“Treat them better, then,” Miranda said. 

“I need to keep them a little scared of me. If I don’t, they’ll lose respect, and then I’ll be nowhere.” Clarisse rose off the crate, rubbing her buttocks. “Also, next time we have a talk, let’s have it somewhere more comfortable, please.”

“This locale was  _ your  _ idea,” Miranda griped, following Clarisse up the stairs. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Clarisse dismissed, waving a hand to accentuate her point. “Let’s go find the boys.”

“Let’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just warning you, the next chapter might be kind of upsetting. I have some headcanons about Clarisse that... well... this fic might get a few more trigger tags.  
> Just warning y'all.


	11. Can't Handle The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER DEALS WITH VERY DISTURBING ELEMENTS. THINGS LIKE THE BRUTAL RAPE OF A SMALL CHILD. IF THIS UPSETS YOU, _PLEASE_ DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER. IT IS DESCRIBED IN A FAIR AMOUNT OF DETAIL.  
> Also, this takes place only a few days after the last chapter. It was gonna get put in the chapter itself but it didn't wind up that way. So it's here in the notes.

“... And that’s why I think Darth Vader would beat Harry Potter in a fistfight. Wait, was that a knock?” Meg held up one finger. 

Miranda nodded. “Yeah, Here, I’ll get it.” Miranda stood up from her bed and walked across the floor of Cabin 4. 

Sherman was at the door. “Hey, my girl.”

Miranda noticed he was pale. “What’s wrong? You okay?” 

“Yeah, uh… Clarisse wants to talk to you,” Sherman responded. “It’s… it’s… uh… it’s kind of urgent.”

“‘Kind of’ meaning ‘very’?” Miranda asked.

“Yeah. Very,” Sherman nodded. “She… uh… she’s in the Big House basement.”

Miranda nodded. She pulled on a sweater to disguise the fact that she was dressed for bed and ran for the Big House. She made it to the basement in record time, Sherman hot on her heels. She rounded a stack of boxes and stopped abruptly. A strange, buff man in sunglasses was standing over Clarisse. Clarisse herself was curled up with her cloak wrapped tightly around herself, her head in her knees. She was audibly hyperventilating. 

“What… what’s happening?” Miranda cried. “What did you do to her?”

“Don’t look at me,” the figure replied. “I never even touched her. She asked me for the truth and I gave her the truth. That was all I did. It isn’t my fault she was too weak to handle it.” 

Miranda ran to Clarisse’s side. “Wait… _truth?_ What… what was the _truth?”_

No response. Miranda looked up. The figure was gone. Sherman was standing behind her, still as a statue. “Sherman, do you…”

“Our father,” Sherman replied. His voice was icy. “Ares.”

“What did he do to her?” Miranda asked.

“No fucking clue. Or a small clue, but not much. He came around to see how many of his kids hadn’t bit the big one yet, she asked him if he knew what happened to erase all of the memories of her first grade year and I’m assuming he showed her because she hasn’t stopped hyperventilating since.”

Miranda scanned Clarisse. “... She needs medical help,” Miranda decided. “Go get Chris. I’m taking her to the infirmary.”

Sherman nodded and ran off. Miranda sat next to Clarisse, pulling one of her hands out of her hair and holding it gently. “Clarisse? Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

Clarisse squoze her hand tightly, so tight Miranda thought her bones would break. 

“That’s my Risse,” Miranda murmured. “Here, I’m gonna get you to the infirmary, okay? Will might be… he might be able to help you. But… you’re gonna need to be able to look at me first. Can you look at me, Risse?”

Clarisse raised her head. Tears poured down her cheeks, tears so thick and heavy Miranda didn’t think she could even see through them. Her mouth was lolling open, her jaw moved limply with every jerky gasp. “Oh, Risse,” Miranda murmured, stroking tears off of her cheeks. “Oh, Risse.”

“Mi-Mi-ra-n-da,” she gasped, almost as if this was the first time she realized the other was there. “Mi-ra-n-da.”

“Risse. Come on, let’s get you to the infirmary.”

Clarisse shook her head. “I… I… I… I… do-do-n-wan-na.” Her voice broke, a horrible wail escaped her lips. “... I donwanna!”

“... You need it,” Miranda whispered. “You can’t stay here in the dark and cry. It’s not helpful. You need medical attention and care.”

Clarisse squoze Miranda’s hand again. “... I… I… I don-wan… I… I don-wan… Wi-ill… to… to… s-see me… s-see me cr-cry li-ike th-is…”

“... What happened?” Miranda whispered. “What happened? What did Ares show you?”

Clarisse groaned, gripping her head again. “... Imma be s-sick.”

“Let’s go to the infirmary,” Miranda concluded. She stood up, extending a hand to Clarisse. “Come on, take my hand.”

Clarisse took her hand, but instead of pulling herself up, she held her hand to her cheek. Miranda could feel how soaked it was. “... Umsurry…”

“Don’t be sorry.” Miranda dipped into a squat, stroking her cheek. “Just get up and come to the infirmary. We can get you a private room like we did for me back in June. It’ll be more comfortable than staying here and crying.”

Clarisse nodded. Miranda helped her up, putting an arm around her waist. Clarisse was shaking badly; the walk was slow. Miranda murmured softly to her the whole time, nonsense things that sounded good. Just to remind her she was there.

Miranda pulled her into the infirmary. “Will? Can I use one of your private rooms?”

“For wha-oh, gods!” Will shot up from his desk and hurried over to them, taking Clarisse by the shoulders. “What happened here?”

“I don’t know. Ares showed her something from her own past that she’d apparently repressed and she’s been hyperventilating ever since. I wanted… I wanted to know if you could help her at all.” Miranda was surprised by the desperation in her voice. “She needs help.”

“She does,” Will agreed. He put an arm around her waist and led her gently to one of the private rooms. He turned to her. “Here, sit down.”

Clarisse shakily sat down on the bed, still hugging herself tightly within her cloak. Miranda sat down in a nearby chair.

“What did he show you?” Will murmured. His voice was so gentle Miranda could feel herself melting too. She would have done anything he’d asked.

Tears streamed down Clarisse’s cheeks. She feebly tried to hide her face in her arms. “... Imma be sick.”

“Does your stomach hurt?”

Clarisse nodded.

“Here. I’ll get you some stomach medicine,” Will soothed. He turned to Miranda. “Keep an eye on her.”

“I will,” Miranda replied. 

Will left the room as Miranda stood up, moving towards Clarisse. She tried to hug her, but Clarisse shoved her away. Miranda fell heavily on her backside. “Do-on to-uch me!”

“Okay,” Miranda whispered, standing up, rubbing her behind. “I won’t. I just… normally you feel better when I hug you. That’s all.”

Quiet sobs broke from Clarisse’s lips. “... Um-sor-ry… I… I don-wan… don… don… hur-t… me…”

“I won’t,” Miranda soothed. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I swear on the Styx.”

Clarisse nodded. She looked at Miranda, her eyes so dazed and unfocused it was heartbreaking. She held out her arms, shaking, sobbing exhaustedly. 

Miranda pulled her in, holding her gently, stroking her hair, rubbing tender fingers over her back. She could feel her sobs and gasps wane slightly as she held her. It made her troubled heart feel slightly better. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re gonna be just fine.”

It was then that Will reentered the room, a cup of pink liquid in one hand and a bucket in the other. “... That’s probably smart,” Will murmured. “Get some endorphins in her.”

“I don’t know what endorphins are,” Miranda replied. “But it does seem to be helping.”

Will sat next to her. “It should. If she’s not truly gone, which I don’t think she is, hugs help. And endorphins are happy chemicals, by the way.”

Miranda nodded. “Makes sense.”

“And I brought the stomach medicine if you still need it, Clarisse,” Will murmured. 

Clarisse pulled away from Miranda, clutching her stomach. She’d stopped crying, but she still looked dazed. She was still hyperventilating. She nodded.

“Here,” he whispered, putting the cup in her shaking hands and holding them. “Do you need my help?”

“... Y-ye-ah,” Clarisse gasped. “... Y-yeah.”

Will put the cup to her lips and Clarisse drank. She swallowed it down and slumped back over, wrapping her cloak tightly around herself once more. “... Th-tha-anks,” she gasped. “... Tha-anks.”

“You’re welcome,” Will murmured. 

“... What’s the bucket for?” Miranda inquired quietly.

“Just in case,” Will responded. “I didn’t know how messed up her stomach really was.”

“Smart,” Miranda smiled.

“Thanks.” He turned to Clarisse. “... Where’s Chris? Do you want him here?”

Clarisse nodded. 

“I sent Sherman to go find him,” Miranda cut in. “He should be here soon.”

“Good. I think he… he might be able to help her more than I can.” Will paused. “But you were still smart to bring her here. At least here we can keep a good eye on her.”

“Of course. I mean… I was worried because she was hyperventilating,” Miranda said. “I was worried she was gonna pass out.”

“No, no, you’re right,” Will responded. “That would be bad.”

Miranda nodded. 

Will turned back to Clarisse. “Can you try to take a deep breath for me? All I want you to do is take a breath and hold it.”

Clarisse pulled in a slightly deeper gasp. She tried to hold it, but her chest spasmed so badly that she lapsed into a hacking cough. “I ca-ca-ca-n’t!”

Will waited for her coughs to stop. “You can do it. I know you can. You’re a fighter, Clarisse. I know you can do it.”

Clarisse whimpered. A few more tears fell down her cheeks. She took a deep breath and tried to hold it again. Her chest spasmed, but not as badly. She gasped softly. 

“Try again,” Will whispered. Miranda was struck by how gentle he was. No wonder they’d made him head medic.

Clarisse tried again. She took a deep breath, holding it. Her chest spasmed, again, slightly, she gasped another breath and held it again. 

“That’s it. You’re such a good fighter,” Will whispered. “You’re doing such a good job.”

Clarisse exhaled, slowly, shakily. She took one more deep breath, held it, released it. A few more tears poured down her cheeks and Miranda brushed them away. “... I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s okay,” Will murmured. “No shame in it. But I do… I do think you should tell someone what it is that Ares showed you at least.”

“... I don’t want to,” Clarisse sniffled. “I don’t want to.”

“It’ll hurt more if you’re trying to keep it a secret,” Will murmured. “It’s painful to keep all of that in.”

“... Yeah, but… it would… it would hurt too much to talk about.”

“... Try. If you can’t say it in front of me, then maybe you can talk to Miranda,” Will murmured. “Miranda’s your friend. She’ll be there for you.”

Clarisse didn’t have time to respond before Chris bolted into the room. “What’s going on? Is Clarisse okay?”

Will gestured to her. “Yes and no. She’s intact, but she’s not… she isn’t well.”

Chris ran to her side. “Oh. I… I thought… I thought she was… oh, gods.” Chris brushed tears off of her cheeks. “Clarisse, what happened?”

“... I don’t want to talk about it in front of Will,” Clarisse whispered.

“I can leave,” Will suggested. “I just wanted to… to make sure she was okay first.”

“Of course,” Chris replied. “Thank you so much for doing that.”

“No problem.” Will stood up and headed for the door. “It’s my pleasure.”

“Thanks, Will,” Miranda said as he left, closing the door behind him. “Clarisse, do you want me to leave too?”

Clarisse shook her head. “... I don’t care.”

“Okay,” Miranda replied. “I’ll be real quiet and not bother you two.”

“... Okay,” Clarisse whispered. She was quiet for a long time. She leaned against Chris, a few more tears leaking out of her bloodshot eyes. 

Chris held her. “... Whenever you’re ready.”

Clarisse buried her face in Chris’s chest. “... Okay. I… I told you, Miranda, about that… that hole in my memory? Between the first and second grades?”

“Yeah?”

“... Ares… he… he told me what it… what it was. He filled it.”

“... And what was it?” Miranda whispered, moving closer, holding Clarisse’s hand.

“... I… I… I... I… Chris, you know how my… my mother. You know she’s in prison, right?”

Chris winced. “... Yeah. My mother said it was… it was for beating you or something.”

“It… it wasn’t… just… just that,” Clarisse whispered. Her voice was barely there. “It was… it was… worse.”

“What did she do to you?” Miranda asked, her heart clenching. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer.

“... Something worse.” Clarisse’s voice broke. She buried her face in Chris’s chest.

Chris kissed the top of her head. “... Take your time. Go slow. Don’t hurt yourself trying to tell us what she did.”

“... I love you, Chris,” Clarisse whispered. “... I don’t say that enough.”

“I love you, too, Risse. My tough girl. Are you… are you worried I’ll be mad at you for… for whatever she did?”

“... I don’t know,” Clarisse whispered. “I just… it’s… so… it’s so… I don’t want to… to… it’s not… it’s…”

“Whatever it is, it’s upsetting,” Miranda soothed. “We know. We’re prepared. We love you. You can tell us.”

“... She… she came home one day. Drunk. My grandmother had left me home alone to go grocery shopping because… because Chris’s mom lived in our basement and I was supposed to be with her. I’d gone upstairs because I needed… I didn’t like using Chris’s mom’s bathroom. I liked ours better. Anyway, she came home and… and she… I couldn’t get downstairs because… because she was in the way. I couldn’t escape. She saw me and… and she just fucking exploded. She grabbed me and… and slammed me into the ground, she just floored me. I remember she had a gun. A little pistol she used to call Dusty. It was her favorite damn thing in the world, that gun. 

“Anyway, she… she just went nuts. Beat the hell out of me. She was screaming how’s it feel, how’s it feel, how’s it feel you little bitch. This’ll teach you to fucking get me kicked out of the army. I thought I was gonna die. I told her what are you talking about, how did I get you kicked out of the army? and her eyes, I remember the look in her eyes when I said that. She looked insane with rage. Just absolutely beyond reason. I was so so scared.” Clarisse’s voice broke. “And she jammed the gun in my mouth and told me to say my fucking prayers and hope the fuck someone answers because otherwise I’m meeting Jesus that night. And I didn’t know what to say so I just screamed Father help me. 

“And I thought that worked when she pulled the gun out of my mouth. But she just… she cracked me one more time with the butt of the gun and yelled I’ll show you the type of justice your fucking father delivers and… and… and then…” Clarisse’s voice broke. She sat up, clutching her stomach. “... I need the bucket.”

Miranda gave her the bucket. She gagged, drool seeping from her lips. Nothing came up for the longest time, drool running down her chin before a wan trickle of stomach fluids drizzled out of her mouth. Finally, she wiped her lips on her cloak and melted back into Chris. “... I’m sorry. I don’t…”

“You can do it,” Chris whispered. “You lived through it. You’re so strong. You can finish the story. I know you can.”

“... She screamed I’ll show you the type of justice your fucking father delivers and then… she… she… she reared back and yelled I’ll show you how it feels, how your father’s love feels and then… she tore off my… I was wearing these little flower-print shorts that Chris’s mom had bought me for my birthday. I’d just turned six. And she… she grabbed those and just… she just fucking Hulked those off my fucking body. And I was screaming because I thought… I thought I was dead. And she took the gun and… she took the gun and… and…”

“... And?” Chris whispered.

“... and… and she… she… she… penetrated me. With the gun.”

Miranda put her hand over her mouth. It was all she could do to avoid screaming, fainting or throwing up. Somehow, she stayed quiet, prompting Clarisse to continue. “She was screaming how’s it feel, I bet it feels good. It feels like Daddy’s love. This is what your father’s love feels like. And I was screaming and screaming and screaming because… because it hurt so much. It… it felt like she was splitting me in two. 

“I don’t know how long it lasted. But eventually she just kind of… ran out of steam. She got up and… she had a few shots and left. She just walked out the front door. And I was crying so hard because I was… I was bleeding really badly from my groin and head and arms and I… I thought I was gonna die. And I… I heard this voice that said are you gonna get up and find help or are you gonna lay there and die? and I looked up and… and it was… well, I know now that it was Ares. And he said that I had to stand up and find help or I was gonna die right there. And I told him I was in so much pain that I didn’t think I could walk, could he go get help? and he refused and told me I needed to. So… I… I pulled myself up and I… I crawled. I crawled. I told him I couldn’t go down the stairs and he… he kicked me down them. 

“I remember hitting the door. Chris, your mom found me then. I remember she was screaming and screaming. And she took me to the hospital. And… that’s about it. There was some stuff with the police, some stuff involving a court case. I think my grandmother handled a lot of that. Anyway, she… she disowned my mother after that, thank gods. Best thing that lady ever did for me.”

“... How long was she in jail for?” Miranda whispered.

“Six years. Then she was paroled, then she got jailed again for beating me again, then she escaped somehow, then she and I got in a fight and she shot me and she got sent to jail again. I can show you the scar if you don’t believe me on that one. Anyway, she’s in prison now. I’ve been assured she’ll be there for a very long time.”

“Good.” Tears slipped down Miranda’s cheeks, despite herself. “Fucking good.”

“Yeah, fucking good,” Chris agreed. He squoze Clarisse tightly, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. "I'm... I'm glad she can't hurt you anymore."

“Don’t _you_ cry,” Clarisse mumbled dully, focusing on Miranda.

“I’m sorry,” Miranda whispered. “I just… ohhh.” She moaned and grabbed Clarisse in a hug. Chris and Clarisse pulled her in, group hugging. “I’m so sorry, Risse.”

Chris and Miranda held Clarisse tenderly as Clarisse began to cry again, softer this time. “It wasn’t… wasn’t your fault, girlie.”

“No, I know,” Miranda replied, her voice trembling with emotion. “I could never do something like that to a six year old. Or to anyone, for that matter.” 

“... I know,” Clarisse whispered. “I know.”

They held her for a long time. None of them said very much. There really wasn’t anything _to_ be said. After all, what can you say to someone who’s been through that much hell? And at the hand of their own mother, no less.

When she thought about it, Miranda felt _she_ might need the bucket.

Eventually, Clarisse pulled away. “... Thanks.”

“... You’re welcome,” Miranda whispered. “Is… is there anything else we can do?”

Clarisse lay down in the bed, pulling her boots off and curling up in her cloak. “... Stay with me,” she begged, her voice weak. “Stay with me.”

Chris curled up beside her, spooning her. “Of course,” he whispered. “Anything for you, tough girl.” 

Miranda sat next to her, holding her hand. “... Yeah, anything for you, Risse.”

“Thanks,” Clarisse whispered, melting into the bed. Her eyes fell closed almost instantly. “... I love you two. Don’t forget that.”

“We won’t,” Chris whispered as Clarisse’s breathing became even and soft in his ears.

“... Yeah,” Miranda agreed, stroking her fingers. “We won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost cried writing this chapter. I guess that means it's good. But it could also be sleep deprivation. I've been up all night writing this chapter and the last.  
> Anyway, I'm sorry. I normally don't write a lot of backstories with rape in them. I only have it for Clarisse and Will. No one else. If you care about the stuff with Will, read my drabble doc. It's in there. I forget what chapter number it is, but it's called "Will's Private Sickness". I've been up all night, it's dawn and I'm very tired. Fortunately, COVID has closed all the schools so I don't have to wake up until noon. Or later. Or whenever the hell my parents wake me or my mom's dog barks me awake.  
> Whichever.  
> Also, this is now my longest continuous fic! Woot woot!


	12. Been Through More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with one or two things that were ill-addressed in the last. Also, I'm low-key shocked that no one commented on the last chapter. I was so afraid I'd get hated on for posting that lol

Clarisse woke up a few hours later, slowly, floating gently into consciousness. She heard Miranda and Chris talking softly. She opened her eyes to see Miranda’s face streaked with tears. “Wha?”

“Clarisse,” Miranda gasped. “Clarisse. I’m so… I’m so sorry, I… I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t cry,” Clarisse mumbled. “‘S not worth crying over if it isn’t your problem. Focus on you.”

Miranda sniffled and leaned in close, leaning her head against Clarisse’s. “I… I’m so sorry, Clarisse, I’m so… I’m so  _ selfish _ , oh…”

“How are you selfish?” Clarisse wiped the sleep from her eyes. 

“I… here I am all… all self-destructive because I’m an attention whore and didn’t get called pretty as much as my sister and… and you’ve been through  _ that, _ gods, oh gods…” Miranda sobbed, squeezing Clarisse’s hand. 

Clarisse’s stomach roiled. “... I… look, it’s not… don’t compare apples to oranges, girlie. Everyone has problems. Problem…” She pointed to Chris. “... problem…” She pointed to Miranda. “... problem. So many problems. It’s all in how we choose to approach them, I guess. And...” She gave a rueful laugh. “I guess neither of us is all that good at approaching ours.”

Miranda sniffled. “... I guess not. I… I’m sorry, Clarisse. I’m so sorry. I feel like a sack of dirt, gods.”

“Don’t say that,” Clarisse murmured. “It isn’t your fault that you feel bad. I’m just glad you’re recovering so nicely.”

“... I guess that’s why… I guess that’s why I recovered faster than you did. Because you’ve been through more,” Miranda murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Clarisse sighed. “Girlie, I don’t  _ care.  _ If it hurts it hurts. Even if it is petty. And you don’t deserve to be hurt regardless of the situation.”

“And now I feel even worse, because instead of being comforted by us like you deserve, now you need to be comforting  _ me,” _ Miranda sniffled. 

“I mean, Chris is still… I can still feel him spooning on me. That… that helps. And Miranda, it’s not your fault. I always knew you were an exceptionally sensitive girl,” Clarisse chuckled, brushing the tears off of her cheeks. “Don’t cry. It’s all good.”

Miranda leaned into her hand. Her hand was warm. “... Thank you so much, Risse.”

Clarisse looked at Miranda, a soft smile taking over her features. “... It’s not a problem.”

Miranda took her in an awkward hug. Clarisse buried her head in her chest, letting herself be held, comforted. Safety was warm and it smelled of roses. 

She felt Chris stir behind her. “... Clarisse?”

“Mhm?” Clarisse grunted.

“... I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Clarisse asked. “You’ve been doing everything right.”

“... I just… I feel like I hardly reacted at all to… to  _ that, _ and… I just wanted to make sure you knew it was because I didn’t know how to react properly, not because… not because I was trying to snub you or anything.”

Clarisse pulled her way into a sitting position. “... No, I know. I didn’t… I didn’t really expect either of you to know how to respond. That’s why... that’s why I didn’t really want to tell you.”

Miranda sat on the bed. “... I hope we didn’t react too atrociously.”

Clarisse sighed. “No, you guys… you guys did fine. Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

There was a pause. Chris sat up and hugged Clarisse gently. “... Well, I’m glad you’re… you’re feeling a little better, but look, Clarisse, I…”

“You?”

“... I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I just… I mean, that’s so… so fucking terrible that… I don’t… I don’t even know how to respond. No one should ever have to…” Chris shook his head. “No one should ever have to… to go through that.”

Clarisse felt tears sting at the corners of her eyes. “... It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Chris replied. “It’s really, really not. You were… oh, gods, Clarisse, you were  _ six.  _ No wonder you just… just repressed it. I bet… I bet you didn’t even… didn’t even know how else to deal with it.”

“... I still don’t,” Clarisse admitted. “I still don’t. I know… I know eventually I’m gonna walk out of this room and it’ll all be okay and I’ll go back to my normal life of kicking ass and chewing bubble gum but… for now, I… I feel so fucking sick and disgusting that… that I don’t even want to move out of this bed.”

Chris squoze her. “... Do you need the bucket?”

“No, I’m not that nauseous,” Clarisse decided. 

“Risse?” Miranda broke in suddenly. She’d had a hunch, a terrible hunch. She didn’t know quite how to begin addressing it, however.

“Yeah?”

“... I don’t… I don’t know quite how to ask this but… but… when you were… in that basement, alone, did you… did you…” Miranda mimed slashing lines on her chest and stomach. 

Clarisse clenched her jaw. Miranda could tell she was fighting back a rebuke. 

“It’s just a simple yes or no. I only want to know so we can get Will to clean them if there are any.”

Clarisse nodded. “... Yeah.”

Chris squoze her, burying his face in her neck. “... Oh, Risse,” he whispered. “Oh, my tough girl.”

“Okay,” Miranda whispered. “Can I get Will? So he can clean them and heal them up?”

“... I don’t want him to bitch me out for it.”

“... He won’t,” Miranda replied. “And if he does, it’s only out of concern.”

Clarisse sighed. She put her hands up. “Fine. I surrender. Let’s get this over with.”

“Okay.” Miranda stood up. “I’m assuming they’re on your chest and stomach again like always?”

“... Yeah.” Clarisse nodded. 

“Okay. Just wanted to know what I should be telling him.” With that, Miranda left the private room. Will was sitting at his desk in the main infirmary, making notes in a notebook. “Will?”

He turned. “Yeah? Is Clarisse feeling any better? Did she tell you what was wrong?”

Miranda’s stomach churned. She crossed her arms over her gut. “... Yeah. She did. But… I was concerned because… she has these little… these small little wounds on her stomach that I wanted you to look at.”

“Okay. Are they… how deep are they?” Will asked.

“I’m not really a doctor, but… I mean, she’s not bleeding out or anything.”

“Right, no, of course. Here, I’ll take a look at them.” Will rose, grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol, gauze, bandages and stitches thread and walked for the private room. “Clarisse?”

Clarisse raised her head. “Yeah?”

“... Glad to see you’re a little calmer,” Will mused. “How are you feeling now?”

Clarisse stared at the floor. “... I’m okay.”

“Glad to hear it,” Will responded. “Yeah, you were in really bad shape when you came in. I was really worried about you.” He sat in a chair next to her bed. “Also… Miranda said you had some scratches on your stomach? Can I see those?”

Clarisse sighed. “Chris, will you let go of me for a few minutes?”

“Oh… sure. I’m sorry.” Chris did what he was told. He released her and sat on the edge of her bed. 

Clarisse pulled up her shirt. Will started so badly he nearly fell off the chair. Clarisse’s abdomen was almost all scar tissue, small red cuts laced in with old pink-to-white scars. “Oh-! Okay. I… um. I’m sorry.” He leaned in close. “... These aren’t too deep, fortunately. Here, I’ll… I’ll clean them.” He gently rubbed over the cuts with rubbing alcohol. “Also, Chris, Miranda, I need to talk to you two after this. And yes, it is urgent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Will wasn't expecting Clarisse to be the type to hurt herself, honestly. Also, Will has to see so much shit working that damn infirmary job. I feel bad for him. I mean, he not only has to deal with every kind of injury known to man, he has to deal with the psychological effects of everything everyone has gone through as well. Man probably sees every conceivable permutation of self abuse.


	13. Clarisse Doesn't Write

Will walked with Chris and Miranda into the examination room. He closed the door behind him. “... So… guys. About those cuts on Clarisse’s stomach.”

“We know. They’re all self-inflicted,” Miranda sighed. “I just don’t know what to do about it. I mean, we want to help her, we really do, but we don’t know how.” 

“Do you know what we can do?” Chris begged. “Please, I’m so scared for her.”

Will sighed. He shook his head and sat down heavily in a nearby chair. “If I had a cure-all for self-destructive behavior, I’d be the luckiest man alive. I really would be. I  _ wish _ I knew more on how to help. Have you talked to Chiron?”

“... I have,” Chris replied. “He basically said there was nothing he could do. I mean, demigod therapy doesn’t exist. No one seems to know anything else.”

“Seriously, though, what does a shrink even do besides just give talk-it-out opportunities?” Miranda cut in. “I mean, is there any difference between a shrink and… like… a diary?”

“Keeping a diary could help her, actually,” Will mused. “I mean, I’ve kept a journal since I was eight and it helped me.”

“But do you think it would help  _ her?” _ Chris asked. “I mean, Clarisse has never been good with words. I don’t think she’s written a sentence longer than four or five words in years save mandatory writing for college.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Will sighed. “So… now, how should I break this to her? So she won’t kill me?”

“... I mean, I think she’s really subdued at the moment,” Chris said. “I think… I think she’s more or less nonviolent right now, or as nonviolent as she ever is.”

“Okay.” Will rose up out of the chair he’d flopped in. “So we have a game plan. You two wanna come with me, or…”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m coming with,” Chris replied firmly. “I’m not leaving her. Not now.”

“Same,” Miranda agreed softly. “Same.”

“Of course,” Will nodded. They trailed out of the exam room and returned to the private room. Clarisse was staring vacantly into space, repeatedly picking at a scab on her arm. Will noticed a pinprick of blood welling in the half-healed wound. “Clarisse?”

She didn’t reply for a long time. “... Yeah?”

“... Can you look at me, please? And stop picking at that scab? You’re reopening it, I don’t want you to bleed all over the place.”

Clarisse nodded slowly. She looked at him, but her eyes weren’t focused on anything at all. She dropped her hand. “... Yeah.”

“Thanks. Anyway… we talked.”

“I know. About me. Chris wants me locked up someplace. He wants my arms tied behind my back so I can’t hurt myself.”

“... That is basically the opposite of what I want,” Chris sighed.

“Yeah, Clarisse. That’s not… that’s not reality,” Will interrupted, shutting the conversation down before it could turn into an argument. “Anyway, we talked and we think… I think it might be good for you to start keeping a diary.”

“I’m not a writer,” Clarisse huffed. “I don’t write.”

“I’m aware of that,” Will replied. “But we… we really don’t know what else to do, and… I think you have some things you need to work through, and I think writing about those things would help.”

Clarisse shrugged. “Sure, whatever you think, Doc.”

“Don’t Doc me. I’m being serious,” Will chided. “Clarisse, we’re all really scared for you. Chris and Miranda… they both love you so much and… it’s really killing them to see you do these things to yourself. And I know how they feel because I’ve been there, I’ve had friends become self-destructive and I’ve seen that downward spiral and I’ve seen how quickly it can just eat people alive and… oh, fuck.” Will wiped tears out of his eyes. “... I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Clarisse grumbled. “Don’t worry about it. Miranda told me what Lou Ellen was doing to herself.”

“And Kayla. She got Kayla into it too. I… I couldn’t even look her in the eyes after that,” Will sighed.

“No, that was wrong,” Miranda cut in. “That was really, really wrong of her. I mean, Lou is my friend but… that girl’s moral compass spins in circles.”

“It does. Anyway, we’re off track and it’s my fault. I’m sorry. But Clarisse, I really do think you should start keeping that diary. I think I even have a spare composition book you can use,” Will said brightly. “Do you want me to get it?”

Clarisse looked at Chris. His dark eyes were wide and soft as a puppy’s, so much concern was hung in them it was ridiculous. “... Sure, fine. Whatever.”

“... I want you to actually  _ use _ it,” Will nagged.

“I said sure!” Clarisse snipped. 

“Okay, okay.” Will raised his hands and left the room. He came back in seconds with a marbled composition book and a mechanical pencil. Miranda had a sudden flashback to the third grade. “Here we go.”

Clarisse took it and put it on her bedside table. “... Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome,” Will said cheerily. “Thank  _ you _ for agreeing to help yourself.”

Clarisse sighed. “You’re… you’re welcome, I guess.”

There was a pause. Clarisse lay down on her back. “... How long can I stay here before you kick me out?”

“As long as you need,” Will replied. “How are you feeling?”

Clarisse began picking at a different scab. “... I’ll be fine.”

“... Will you?” Will asked. He could feel the disgust and hurt radiating off of her. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“... No. Just… please, let me stay here a while. I don’t… I don’t know what to… I mean, I don’t… I don’t even know how I’m gonna be able to leave here when I have to go back to Phoenix in two weeks. I really…” Clarisse couldn’t put words to her feelings. Her stomach churned with disgust and self-loathing. 

“No, I get it,” Will reassured. “Stay here as long as you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M A HACK DO DOOBA DOOBIE DO I'M A HACK DO DOOBA DOOBIE DO I'M A HACK DO DOOBA DOOBIE DO   
> And no one's reading this, so I can say whatever I want in these notes. Ha ha! I'm free! I could be saying anything I wanted! Nothing matters! Certainly not this shite fanfic I'm turning out. I swear to god, one of these days I'm gonna yeet myself off a cliff.  
> And of course, for legal reasons, that was a joke.


	14. Don't Shut Me Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer has rolled around once again and Will and Clarisse are having a chat.

It was summer once more. Will’s last one before he was due to leave for New Rome for college. He was trying to make the most of it. He hadn’t trained a successor medic yet. Kayla had other passions. He didn’t want Austin to be traumatized by the job. And Georgie was just too young. He figured Chiron would step up and do it. After all, he was the only one who was really qualified. 

He was sitting at his desk drinking his one self-allotted Coke of the week when he heard the door open behind him. He turned. It was Chris. “Hey, man! How’s it going? Glad to see you back!”

“It’s all right, I think,” Chris sighed. “Has Clarisse spoken to you yet?”

“No, she hasn’t. Why? Do you think she’s…”

“I don’t know. Clarisse… she won’t… she won’t talk to me about this anymore. She’s totally shut me out.”

“... I’m sorry. That’s… that’s the  _ opposite  _ of what she needs. I can… I’ll talk to her, okay?” Will reassured.

“... Thanks,” Chris sighed. “I’d appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome. It’s all good,” Will grinned. “Where is she now?” 

“Putting her stuff away in the Ares cabin,” Chris replied. 

“Okay. I’ll go now.” Will stood up. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you. Thank you so much for doing this,” Chris said. “It’s a real weight off of my back.”

“Again, it’s no problem. Seeya.” Will left the infirmary, strolling across the camp green. He saw Cecil trying to pull a struggling Lou Ellen to the top of the climbing wall. He chuckled. Lou Ellen hated the climbing wall. She was terrible at it, really, and had taken to scribbling anti-burn and levitation spells all over herself whenever she made an attempt at it, despite the fact that levitating up a climbing wall doesn’t exactly improve your climbing ability. But Will didn’t care that much. As long as Lou could keep herself alive it was good. 

Will pushed his way through the barbed wire. It felt like entering enemy territory. Ares kids still weren’t fond of Apollo kids, even though the truce had been standing for about three years now. He knocked on the door. Music was blasting from the other side. 

Ellis Wakefield answered. “... Oh. It’s you.”

“Yeah. It’s me. Can I talk to Clarisse, please?” Will asked. 

Ellis scowled at him. He turned and looked into the darkness of the cabin. “Clarisse! Get out here!”

Clarisse emerged from the darkness. “Whaddya want?”

“Hey. I wanna talk to you. In private.”

Clarisse squinted her eyes at him. “... Why?”

“I just want to check in. That’s all.” 

Clarisse looked at him like she was seriously considering telling him to go fuck himself before turning and shouting into the dark chaos of the cabin. “... Sherman, keep Ellis from getting killed while I go talk to this idiot. And don’t touch my knives.”

Sherman shouted something unintelligible from the inside of the cabin. Clarisse shrugged and turned. “Let’s go.”

“What did he say?” Will asked, trying to find something to say that wasn’t about Clarisse’s self-destructive behavior. 

“Beats the fuck out of me,” Clarisse shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anyway. As long as he doesn’t steal my shit we’re good.”

Will nodded. “Makes sense.” He led her behind the Apollo cabin and sat her down in the cool dirt. “So… how are you doing?”

She leaned heavily against the wall across from him. “I’m good. Healthy. Uh… yeah, not much is even happening right now. Just trying to finish school. I’m about halfway through my program.”

“That’s great! What… what are you studying?”

“Weapons tech. With a focus on the medieval. I have no idea what I’m gonna actually do as a job, but the classwork is fun at least,” Clarisse snorted. 

“That’s… fitting,” Will snorted. “I’m surprised I didn’t guess that.”

“Yeah. I wanna build one of those Roman catapult things, the onagers.”

“Any real reason, or do you just want to have one?” Will asked.

“No real reason. I just want to be able to yeet shit really far,” Clarisse snorted. “Although if I wanted to build a machine that could launch shit really far, I should build a trebuchet. Yeah, I’m gonna build a trebuchet,” Clarisse decided. “... But I’m not actually that good at building things, so… maybe not.”

Will shrugged. “Hey, I believe in you. Go for it.”

“Any belief in me to do anything other than kill is sorely misplaced. Anyway, how’ve you been doing?”

“Good, I guess. I mean, no one’s died recently.”

“That’s always good,” Clarisse laughed. “Are you gonna go to college?”

“Yeah. Next year. I’ve already got all the prep done. I’m going to New Rome like… like Annabeth did this last year and I’m gonna study medicine. Cecil, Lou Ellen and Nico are coming with.”

“... So we’re gonna need to get a new healer?”

“Only during the… not-summer. And I think Chiron’s gonna handle a lot of it.”

“Good.” Clarisse leaned her head back and chuckled. “Gods, this is weird. I mean, I’m gone, Annabeth’s gone, the Stolls have gone, Katie’s gone, you’re about to go and your friends are going with you... I mean, who the hell is left?”

“... Miranda and Sherman, I guess,” Will shrugged. “I mean, they’re old enough to go to college but I don’t think they have plans to go yet.”

“No, they don’t, but Miranda mentioned to me in one of our calls that they’ve been talking about New Rome as well,” Clarisse sighed. “So I guess a lot of Greeks are going into Roman territory.”

“Hey, we’re not enemies anymore. Why shouldn’t we be allowed in their city? They’re allowed in our camp,” Will reasoned. 

Clarisse shrugged. “I guess so.” She paused. “... Did you want to talk to me for any reason other than to ask me about my life?”

“Yeah, actually, I did. Have you been using that journal I gave you?”

“I mean, occasionally? Fuck, I knew it’d come to this,” Clarisse laughed. 

“Occasionally? Like… what, once a month?” Will asked.

“... Yeah. Once every two weeks or so.”

“... Okay. That’s… better than it could be. And…” Will shifted. “... Are you still…”

“... Maybe once a month or so,” Clarisse sighed. “Or once every two weeks. Also, do you regularly see Miranda at meals?”

“Don’t change the subject. So… maybe once or twice a month?”

“... Yeah. I mean, it was worse after… worse after…” Clarisse looked down. 

“... what Ares showed you?” 

“... Yeah,” Clarisse whispered. “... Yeah.”

“... That’s understandable,” Will murmured. “Yeah, you were really shaken by that. We were really scared.”

“... Apologies for scaring you. Anyway, do you see Miranda at meals?”

“Yeah, most of the time,” Will replied. “I’ve been more involved with what she eats as well. She’s eating… decently. Still maybe not quite enough, but decently. I’m not as scared about her. I think… I think you and Sherman really helped her.”

Clarisse nodded and gave a chuckle of relief. “Gods, I’m so happy about that. I was scared she’d relapse when I was gone.”

“No, she’s doing so well and we’re all really proud of her. And you seem to be doing really well, too. Good job.”

Clarisse smiled smugly. “Thanks, Solace.”

“... But there is one thing I have to nag you about and that is that you  _ have  _ to let Chris in. He loves you, Clarisse, and when you shut him out like that it really scares him.”

Clarisse sighed. “... The thing is, he gets so sad when he sees that I’ve hurt myself and it’s… it’s really heartbreaking to see. I don’t like seeing him so sad.”

“... You should tell him that,” Will replied. “Or I will if you don’t want to.”

“How about we both tell him?” Clarisse suggested. “Run a full-on intervention and that.”

Will chuckled. “Yeah.” He stood up. “Want me to get him?”

“... Sure,” Clarisse replied. “You go do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of sad that this fic isn't getting more attention. I think it's one of my better fics, really, and I've worked really hard on it. It's not even like it's not getting any likes, it's just not getting read. I guess it's just not what most people log on to read. And that kind of breaks my heart because Clarisse's mental health is handled even worse than Percy's and I really think more people should look at where exactly that poor girl's mind is after BOTL and TLO. Because wherever it is, it's nowhere good.
> 
> Also, I HC that Georgie shows up at CHB shortly post-TOA. She says she wants to learn more about her birth family, and no one really has a problem with that, so off to summer camp she goes. Also, Will doesn't let her do infirmary work because it would be kind of fucked up to have a seven year old (or whatever) doing that kind of work.


	15. Be Strong For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of last chapter.

Will was back in five minutes with Chris. Chris took his seat next to Clarisse, putting an arm around her shoulder. “Hey, Risse, how are you?”

“I’m fine. Look, Chris, Will and I just wanted to tell you that… that… Chris…” Clarisse sighed. “Where are my words? Anyway… Chris. You know I love you, right?”

“... It’s always nice to hear,” Chris replied. 

“Anyway… okay. I’ll just be blunt. I love you. I don’t mean to shut you out. I don’t mean to scare you. The reason I’m kind of shutting you out when it comes to my mental state is that… is that whenever I see… I tell you I’ve hurt myself or you see the scars I have on me, you get… you get this look on your face that… that’s so sad and despairing and just… just  _ heartbroken,  _ not to mention heartbreak _ ing _ , and it really makes me sad to see because I… I don’t  _ want  _ you to be upset, because I love you, and… so… it really makes it hard to talk to you sometimes.”

Chris sighed. “... I’m sorry, Clarisse. I don’t mean to push you away. I love you so much and I… I don’t  _ want  _ to push you away, but it… it really does hurt me when I see you hurting so badly, because I… I love you, and I owe you one, and…” Chris took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“If you owe me one, you can make it up right now,” Clarisse snorted. 

“... How? I can’t do anything! My hands are tied! There are no demigod shrinks. You’re shutting me out. I can’t… I can’t do anything,” Chris cried.

Clarisse grabbed Chris’s arms. “You can be strong.”

“... It’s so hard,” Chris sighed. 

“I know. I know you’re hurt, but you can’t hurt on my behalf. It isn’t helpful. It’s not helpful for me and it’s not helpful for you. Get it?” 

“... I’ll do my best,” Chris replied. “You know I will.”

“Do your best for me,” Clarisse commanded. 

“I’ll do my best for you,” Chris replied. “Always have, always will.”

“That’s my boy,” Clarisse replied, putting a kiss on his cheek. Her lips were rough and chapped. 

Will smiled. They were cute together. “Yeah. Look, Chris, Clarisse loves you dearly. I think… I think she was trying to protect you from herself in some way, and that’s not a good thing for someone in her situation.”

“... I’m sorry,” Chris murmured. “... I’ve fucked this whole thing up.”

“You let your emotions get in the way,” Clarisse replied. “Which is human. Honestly, you’d be surprised at how much of human nature is either completely unhelpful or straight-up harmful.”

“That’s not untrue,” Will replied. “Look, Chris, it’s okay. You didn’t know you were hurting Clarisse with your actions. Now that you do know, you can change. It’s all good, right, Clarisse?”

“Right,” Clarisse replied, nodding. “I’m not mad. I can’t be mad at you.”

Chris blushed. “... Thanks. I love you.”

“Aw, I love you too,” Clarisse chuckled. She gave Chris a hug, which he returned, nesting her head in his shoulder, sinking into his softness. Chris’s body was warm, which Clarisse appreciated. She loved being warm. It was really difficult for her to get enough heat on her body. 

After a few moments, they parted. “... Ugh. I’ve gotta go unpack the rest of my shit,” Clarisse groaned.

“... Yeah, so do I,” Chris responded. “See you at dinner?” 

“Sounds good,” Clarisse replied. They kissed each other, chapped lips meeting for only a second before parting. “I’ll see you then. Remember I love you.”

“I love you too,” Chris replied as they parted. 

Will smiled, stood up, and returned to the infirmary.  _ Well, that was a productive talk. I think that was important for them to communicate that to each other. They love each other dearly, they do, and I think that’ll help. _

_ I think it’ll help Clarisse recover as well. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris loves Clarisse so much, and it really does hurt him to see her hurt herself; meanwhile, Clarisse loves Chris so much that it hurts her to see him sad. They're both disasters, really.


	16. Clarisse's Needs and Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarisse and Chris have some important issues to discuss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There's a lot of sex talk in this one. It's not vulgar, but it's fairly explicit.  
> Also, this chapter takes place about 4-5 months after the last. Sherman and Miranda got a place in New Rome together because college. Clarisse and Chris are back in Phoenix. Putting it here because it's not so evident in the doc.

Clarisse’s hands were trembling.

She watched as her own ruby red blood ran down her body, dripping, trickling. She was naked on the floor of the bathroom in her and Chris’s apartment, a crusty old beach towel half-heartedly covering her lap. Her hands trembled on the switchblade. She couldn’t use her normal knife this time, the one Chris had given her so many years ago. She’d disappointed Chris too badly. A soft sob escaped her lips as she pushed the knife into her skin. _I’m never gonna be a proper girlfriend._ Slash. _I’m never gonna be able to properly satisfy him._ Slash. _I’m always gonna be damaged goods._ Slash, slash, slash. She leaned heavily against the side of the tub, tears running hot down her cheeks. _I was doing so well. Oh, gods, I was doing so well. Chris and Miranda were so proud. I hadn’t done it in a month. A full month. Fuck that, I guess._

There was a knock at the door of the bathroom. “Clarisse? You okay? You’ve been in there a while.”

Clarisse closed her eyes. “I’m fine, Chris. I just… I don’t feel good.”

“... Okay.” Chris’s voice was quiet. “... Tell me if you need anything, okay?”

Clarisse couldn’t speak. She took a few deep breaths, as quietly as she could. “... Okay.”

She heard Chris’s footsteps retreating. She pressed the towel against her face, sobbing softly, letting the soft fabric absorb her tears, and her blood, as it leaked. She got a sudden mental image of Miranda, her soft dark hair blown around by the wind, laughing. She remembered the touch of her hand as she cleaned her wounds, soft fingers rubbing gel over her skin. _Where are you? Miranda, where… where did you go? I need you. Why did you have to leave me all alone?_ More sobs escaped her throat. _How can I call her like this? She lives with Sherman. I can’t show myself to Sherman like this._

 _Maybe I should just die. I have a knife. It would take all of ten seconds to do myself fatal harm._ She pressed the knife against the seam of her wrist, made a slash. Tiny beads of blood welled in the wounds. Clarisse gasped hard, fresh tears running down her cheeks. She pressed the towel against her mouth, stifling her sobs and gasps so Chris wouldn’t hear. _Oh, gods, Chris. Chris will… will die without me. He needs me._

_And I need to call Miranda before I do something terrible._

She turned on the bathtub faucet. She tried to fumble for her pocket but found only the smooth flesh of her hip. _… Right. My wallet’s outside._ She whimpered and stood up, opening the medicine cabinet. A lone drachma sat on the shelf. She’d put it there in case of emergency. 

She fell heavily back into a sitting position, wrapping herself tightly in the towel. Fortunately, her blood didn’t soak through. A soft sob escaped her lips and she took a deep breath, wiping her eyes. “... Miranda… Gardiner. New Rome,” she whispered.

She lay her head on the side of the tub, holding the towel around herself as the Iris-message sprang to life. Miranda was curled up in a blanket reading out of a textbook. “... Miranda?” Clarisse managed. 

Miranda jumped. “Oh! Oh, gods, Clarisse! You scared… Oh, gods!” Miranda dropped her textbook. “Did you… did you… do… all of this?”

Clarisse pressed the towel against her face again. More hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She managed a small nod.

“Okay,” Miranda whispered. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. We need to have a private talk.” 

Clarisse nodded. She kept her eyes closed until Miranda spoke again. “... Okay,” Miranda whispered. “First of all, why?”

“I… I…” Clarisse sobbed. “I… I can’t… Chris… I’m such a horrible girlfriend. I don’t know why he stays with me.”

“Did you two have a fight?” Miranda’s voice was tender. 

“... No. I… I… I…” Clarisse shook her head. Her voice was barely there. “When… when you’re with a… a man, romantically, you’re supposed to… to have intercourse with him, right?”

“They usually go hand-in-hand, yes,” Miranda nodded. 

“And I… I try for him. I do. But…” Clarisse’s whispering voice trailed off entirely, huddling into the towel that covered her. 

“... You can’t… handle being penetrated, can you.”

Clarisse sniffled again. “... I guess not.”

“Is that all this is? Because I’m pretty sure Chris’s still gonna love you,” Miranda soothed. 

“No, it’s… I… I… I try for him. I tried. I tried.”

“... Today? Right before you called me?” Miranda murmured.

Clarisse nodded. 

“And it brought back all the bad stuff, didn’t it?”

Clarisse nodded again. 

“... Oh, gods,” Miranda murmured. “... I… I don’t even know how to help you other than to say that… that Chris would never hurt you on purpose, especially not during… you know.”

“... I know. I know he’d never hurt me. But… when he… when he… you know, it… it just… so immediate…” A sob cut off her speech. She rocked back and forth. 

“... I’m so sorry,” Miranda murmured. “Clarisse, you _really_ need to talk to Chris about this. He needs to know.”

“I can’t,” Clarisse whimpered. “I can’t. He’ll leave me. He’ll run for the hills. I mean, even if he literally fetishises tall buff brunette women, there are more of those out there. I’m easily replaced. And… and I… I _love_ him, Miranda. I love him. I love him. I love him so much and I need him.” Clarisse devolved into full-on sobs, babbling and rocking back and forth.

“I don’t think he’s gonna leave you for this. He loves you. I can see it in his eyes. And he owes you so much. He isn’t leaving you. I’ll kill him if he tries. He’ll literally have to go somewhere where there aren’t any plants to escape me if he leaves you because I _will_ fight him. 

“Also, there are sex acts that don’t involve you being penetrated. This is an easy problem to fix, Clarisse. You just need to get up and fix it.” Miranda’s voice was so gentle that her words didn’t even seem harsh.

“No, I know that. But… he said that… he said…”

“He wants to be inside you, doesn’t he?” 

Clarisse nodded.

“... It’s more intimate that way,” Miranda murmured finally. “He wants to be closer to you.”

Clarisse sniffled, feeling a sob escape her throat. “... I love that boy. I love him so much. I wish… I wish I could be… better for him.”

Miranda nodded. “No, that’s a common feeling. A lot of people want to be better for their partners. And I think… I think as time goes on and you recover, it will get easier for you to have penetrative intercourse with him. But I don’t want… I don’t think it would be smart for you to try it right now.”

Clarisse closed her eyes again. “... I wish… I should have died in the Battle of Manhattan, you know that? Instead of Silena.”

“Hey, now.” Miranda’s voice was softer than newborn kittens. “Don’t talk like that. Chris and I want you alive.”

“... You two are the only reason why I’m still alive, you know?” Clarisse sniffled. “I’d have no other reason to live if you weren’t around.”

Miranda chuckled tenderly. Her laugh sounded like an angel’s. “... Well, I’m glad to be someone you can turn to. And I wish I could be there in person to hold you and give you fresh warm clothes and make you feel better. I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

“... I wish you were here too,” Clarisse admitted, half-sobbing. “... I wish you were here too.”

There was a pause. Miranda cooed nonsense syllables to Clarisse as she sobbed. Finally, once Clarisse was a little calmer, Miranda said “... Will you please talk to Chris for me?”

Clarisse took a deep breath. “... Okay. I will. If he rejects me, and I snap and… and do something terrible, either to myself or to him, will you… will you forgive me?”

“Of course,” Miranda said instantly. “And I really don’t think you’ll be doing anything terrible.”

“... I hope not,” Clarisse sniffled. 

“Before I go, is there anything else you want to talk about?”

“... I mean, I also feel bad because… because you’re doing so well, and you kicked… kicked your little bad habit so hard and… here I am, relapsing completely.” Clarisse’s voice broke. “I can’t… I can’t even look at myself in the mirror right now.”

“Sherman and I literally got in a shouting match last night because he found out that all I’d eaten yesterday was a peanut butter sandwich. Relapses happen, Clarisse. One bad day doesn’t mean you’re totally back in the habit,” Miranda reassured. “You’re gonna be okay.”

 _“We’re_ gonna be okay,” Clarisse sniffled. “We… we’re doing it together.”

“Yeah,” Miranda whispered, her face dominated by a soft smile. “Thank you. You’re so strong. This isn't gonna break you unless you let it. Don’t let it break you, Risse.”

Clarisse sniffled. “... I love you, okay? I really fucking do. Thank you… thank you so much.”

“I love you too,” Miranda murmured. “Now go talk to Chris. I think it’ll help you a lot.”

Clarisse nodded. “Bye, girlie. Keep yourself healthy. Eat well.”

Miranda giggled, her laugh sweet as birdsong. “Bye, Risse. Keep yourself healthy. Heal well.”

Clarisse extinguished the Iris-message. She stood up, staggering towards the door, keeping her towel wrapped about herself. She opened the door. Chris was lying in their bed. “... Chris?”

Chris looked up. He stood up and crossed the room, looking Clarisse up and down. “Clarisse. Are you okay? Here, let me get you some proper clothes.” Chris turned to grab some pajamas out of their wardrobe for her.

Clarisse was silent. She couldn’t speak. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. How could she say something that could cause the one man, nay, the one _person,_ who ever truly loved her to leave? 

Chris turned back, handing her a tee shirt, shorts and a sweatshirt. “Here you go. Put these on and then come to bed. You look exhausted.”

Clarisse nodded silently. “... I’m not changing until you turn around,” she whispered.

Chris nodded. “Oh, okay. I’m sorry.” He turned and went back to bed, lying on his side and closing his eyes. 

Clarisse dressed herself, hung up her towel in the bathroom and returned to the main room. She lay down on the edge of her side of the bed, leaving a good amount of room between her and Chris. “Okay. I’m dressed.”

Clarisse felt a hand on her back. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem off.”

Clarisse’s eyes stung. Her lip trembled. “... I… I’m all right.”

“... You sound like you’re crying,” he murmured. 

“... A little, I just… There’s no reason for it,” she lied. “It’s just PMS. I’m fine.”

“... You don’t seem like the type of person who cries for no reason,” Chris murmured. “I mean, every time I’ve seen you cry beforehand it’s been for a really good reason, in fact.”

Clarisse was silent for a really long time. “... I…” She bit her lip, biting back gasps and sobs. “... I love you, Chris. I do. Please, I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Clarisse felt Chris kiss her neck. “Please, tell me what this is about.”

“... What would I have to do in order to make you want to leave me?” 

“... You’re not asking for advice, are you?”

“No, I… I… I just want to know what not to do.”

“... Well, as long as you’re not hurting me, I think we’re good. I mean, I really do love you. I wouldn’t leave you over just anything,” Chris reassured, gently tracing patterns over her back. 

“... And if I had some sort of major sexual hang-up, like, _crippling_ hang-up, would you… would you still love me?”

“Clarisse,” Chris started gently. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re secretly a lesbian?”

“What? No, no.” Clarisse managed a watery chuckle. “I just… I… Chris, whenever I… whenever we…”

“... Did I hurt you? When I put it in earlier?” Chris asked gently. “Because I can be gentler if you need me to be.”

“No, Chris. You’re great. It’s just… whenever…” Clarisse whimpered, a few tears falling into her pillow. “... whenever…”

“... It reminds you of what she did to you, doesn’t it?” Chris whispered. 

Clarisse managed a nod, sobbing softly. 

Chris put his arm around her waist, spooning close to her. “Oh, my tough girl. Oh, I’m so sorry. Look, I’ll never stick it in you again if it hurts you that much. It doesn’t mean that much to me.” 

Clarisse sniffled, turning around and burying her face in Chris’s chest. “... I love you so much,” she managed. Chris was warm, she felt a raw powerful need gnaw at her chest. She needed his warmth, his touch, his love. She wanted to soak it up like a sponge. “... I do.”

Chris kissed her forehead. “I love you too. I just don’t want… I don’t want to hurt you, emotionally or physically. And I don’t want to cause you to hurt yourself, either.”

Clarisse whimpered. “... I… how did you… how did you know that I…”

“I saw it. Your towel wasn’t pulled up high enough to hide them all,” Chris murmured. “Clarisse, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Clarisse sniffled. “Seriously, it’s not.”

“But… okay,” Chris murmured. “As long as you don’t blame me.”

“I don’t,” Clarisse sniffled. “I’m just… I’m just glad you still love me.”

“Of course I do, tough girl. I love you so much.” Chris kissed her forehead one more. “And thank you for telling me that. I needed to hear it.”

Clarisse nodded, sniffling. “... And thank you for being so understanding.”

“Of course. Also, see? I’m being strong for you. Like you asked.” Chris sounded proud of himself.

Clarisse leaned up and kissed his lips. “Thank you so much. It means a lot to me.”

Chris smiled. “Of course.” He squoze her, snuggling close. Her frame felt warm, solid, unbreakable. Chris knew that to outsiders, it was almost inconceivable that she would hurt herself, or even feel shattered enough to consider it. Chris felt a distinct pain in his chest at the thought of her hurting herself. “... I love you,” he murmured. 

“I love you too.” Clarisse snuggled hard into Chris’s chest, wanting to merge into his heat, become one so they could never even consider leaving one another. “... Thank you so much. You’re the best boyfriend I could ever hope to have. Really, I owe you so much.”

“... I thought I owed you,” Chris murmured. “For everything you did for me during the…” 

Clarisse felt a shudder pass through Chris’s body. She kissed his lips. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t owe me anything. You’ve already repaid any debt you may have to me.”

Chris hugged her tightly, speechlessly. Clarisse returned the embrace, their bodies pressed flush against each other. Finally, Chris whispered “... I’m glad you talked to me.”

Clarisse sighed, listening to Chris’s breath, his heartbeat. “... I’m glad I talked to you too. Thank you so much for being strong for me.”

“... No problem, tough girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE! I think I'm gonna end this for real soon. This will have 2 more chapters, which I hope will bring this to a (sort of) decent conclusion. It'll be somewhat open-ended, but it will be an ending, and that's what's important. No, I don't know when they'll be out. But I do have a plan.


	17. Bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda and Clarisse talk about a few more things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only real warning for this one is that Clarisse has some interesting views on her own self harm.

“... What happened after our last call?”

Clarisse turned. Miranda was sitting in her bed, wrapped in a blanket. Clarisse was visiting Miranda and Sherman over New Year’s. They had a little one-room apartment in New Rome. “Chris and I showed up together. What do you think?”

“I mean, I know you two didn’t break up or anything,” Miranda laughed. “I just wanted to know how the talk went.”

Clarisse closed her eyes for a moment before opening them. She looked down at her thighs. “... He did so well,” she murmured. “He was so calm. I… I couldn’t ask for someone better than him.”

“You’re lucky,” Miranda nodded. “To have him, that is. There are girls who… there are girls who go through this kind of thing alone.”

Clarisse nodded. “... I bet they don’t get better, do they?”

Miranda shrugged. “You’d be surprised. Humans are… people can be incredibly resilient when they want to be.”

Clarisse sighed. “... People who hurt themselves aren’t resilient.”

Miranda looked down. “Alright, man. It’s only yourself and me you’re insulting.”

Clarisse crawled into the bed next to Miranda, pulling her close, cuddling her. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt your feelings.” She carefully felt for Miranda’s ribs at her sides. She was still sort of bony, not nearly as bad as she’d been . “Also, when did you last eat?”

Miranda snuggled against Clarisse’s chest, wrapping her in a hug. “I… I think it might have been last night.”

“So… no breakfast? Or lunch?”

Miranda didn’t reply.

“People need more than one meal per day, girlie,” Clarisse nagged. “Come on, sweetie, you were doing so well.”

Miranda sighed. “Honestly, I slept through breakfast. I didn’t even wake up until eleven or so.”

Clarisse pet her hair. “... And what about lunch?”

“... I dunno. Just… felt a little…”

“Fat?”

“Am I?” Miranda raised her head. Her eyes were wide and sad. “Seriously, am I…”

“No! No, of course not. I asked if you _felt_ fat. I never said you _were_ fat.” Clarisse patted Miranda’s back. “Don’t worry about it, honey. You’re not fat.” 

Miranda took a deep breath. “... Thanks,” she murmured. “... I’m sorry.”

“... You’re still insecure, aren’t you?” Clarisse murmured. 

Miranda nodded. “A little bit.”

Clarisse patted her hair. “Don’t worry. If it’s about men, don’t worry. There’s only one man you have to impress, and I think you’ve done that pretty well.”

“... I don’t deserve him,” Miranda mumbled. “I don’t. I don’t know why a man like him stays with a malformed freak like me.”

Clarisse snorted. “You’re not malformed. You look fine. Trust me.”

Miranda closed her eyes. Sherman’s words drifted back into her mind, the words he’d said the day she’d cried in his arms while telling him why she starved herself. _There. Is. Nothing. Wrong. With. You._ She’d never believed him, but it was somewhat comforting to hear. “... Thanks,” Miranda mumbled. “I’m appreciative.”

“You don’t believe a damn word I’m saying, do you?”

“... I’m having trouble believing you, yeah,” Miranda sighed. “I guess I just feel like… like if people thought… I don’t know.”

“You think others think you’re fat?”

“I mean, people complimented me on the weight loss when I started out.”

Clarisse thought. “... I don’t ever remember you being that fat. I dunno, though. I think that people complimenting others on losing weight is just sort of a societal thing. It doesn’t mean you were obese or anything.”

Miranda sighed. “... Thanks, I guess.”

“Now, be honest. Are you hungry?” Clarisse asked.

“... A little,” Miranda admitted.

Clarisse smiled. “That’s my girl. Now, come on. I think we have some microwave bagel dogs in the freezer. Let’s both have some.”

Miranda snorted. “You know what? I think I’ll do the cooking here.”

“Come on, man, don’t be that way. Bagel dogs are good. Let me make you one.” Clarisse stood up and crossed to the apartment’s kitchenette. 

“Fine, fine,” Miranda relented. She wrapped herself in her blanket again. “... Thank you, I guess.”

Clarisse put the bagel dogs in the microwave. “... You’re welcome.”

There was a pause. Clarisse microwaved the bagel dogs and put them on separate plates, then brought one to Miranda in her bed. Miranda nibbled on it. Clarisse crammed her own down, her cheeks puffing out as she ate. When she was done, she studied Miranda for a few moments, taking in the sight of her small, hesitant bites. “... Did I ever tell you that you remind me of Silena?”

“... No.” Miranda looked up, putting her hot dog down. “Why? We don’t look alike at all.”

“You hold yourself the same way. You have really silky hair. You both smell like roses. You’re both really… just… soft. I mean, you would have liked each other,” Clarisse sighed.

“... Does it hurt?” Miranda murmured. “Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

“... It used to,” Clarisse replied. “It used to hurt a lot. It still hurts a little. But… it feels a little better now, I think.”

Miranda nodded. “Good. I don’t… I don’t want to… be a reminder of something bad.”

“... Yeah,” Clarisse sighed. “But… I’ve done a lot of thinking, and a lot of talking to Chris on the subject, and I’ve kind of realized that even…” She blinked hard. “I’ve kind of realized that even though she apparently cares way more for Beckendorf than she ever did for me, I still… we still had so many good times together that… that…”

“... It’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all?”

Clarisse nodded. “... Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah. Even though it really fucking hurts.”

Miranda bowed her head. “... There’s some part of you that’s mad at her. I can tell.”

“... I loved her. Plain and simple. I did. More than anyone else.” 

Miranda watched a lone tear trickle down Clarisse’s cheek. “... She loved you too. From everything you, Chris, and Sherman have told me, she loved you. And I get you’re feeling spurned because Silena didn’t agree to be brought back to life by you. I understand it. But I think she still cares for you. I’ve told you this before and I’ll tell you this again. She loved you as much as you loved her.”

Clarisse sniffled. “Miranda, you don’t understand. Besides you and Chris, Silena was the only friend I ever had. And she chose Beckendorf, and being dead, over me. I mean, what am I supposed to think of that? That I don’t mean jack shit to anyone?”

Miranda was quiet. “... I don’t know how to heal your pain. I don’t. I love you, and I wish I could help, but I don’t know how.”

“I mean, I was born to a woman who didn’t ever want kids. Who blamed me for getting her kicked out of the military. My poor granny had to take me in. Poor lady should have been enjoying her retirement, nope, she’s raising another kid. Chris was forced to hang out with me because his mother was besties with my gran. The one fucker who’s been with me through it all was forced to be with me. I’m practically a goddamn virus. But Silena _chose_ to be with me. I don’t know why she did, but she did. And then she died. And it hurt. It hurt like hell. And when I tried to bring her back, she refused. Because I guess she realized that she was better off without me,” Clarisse sobbed.

Miranda put her arms around her, gently nesting Clarisse’s head in her neck. “I don’t think it was about you,” she murmured. “I think she just… her love for Beckendorf was so strong that she… I mean, imagine if you and Chris were dead together, and I wanted you back. What would you do? Keep in mind that dying is painful.”

“I know I’m an asshole for thinking that way, but-”

“You are _not_ an asshole. You’re hurt. People can be shitty when they’re hurt. Anyway, think about what I asked for a moment.”

Clarisse thought. She imagined seeing Miranda in that much pain and felt an acute sting in her chest. Then she imagined living an entire _life_ without Chris. “... Chris, I guess. I’d stay dead.”

Miranda nodded. “... Yeah. It’s a terrible situation for everyone involved. I can guarantee you that down in Elysium, Silena’s hurting too. And it’s not right. It’s so not right. It’s so not right that good people have to suffer in this way. I’d do anything to prevent you from suffering further. I would.”

“You do so much,” Clarisse sniffled. “You’ve been so good to me. So warm. So open. So accepting. I… look, I love you. Not in a gay way or anything. In the type of… I dunno.”

“Like a friend,” Miranda murmured, stroking Clarisse’s hair. “Like a friend. Which is what you are to me, and I to you.” 

Clarisse pulled away, taking Miranda’s hands, staring intently into her eyes. “You have no idea how much it means to me when you say things like that.”

Miranda squeezed Clarisse’s hands, giving her a smile with so much love in it it was almost painful. “I’m glad I can help.”

The two girls held hands. Clarisse suddenly wondered if she’d even loved Silena as much as she loved Miranda in that moment, the warmth of her hands flowing against her own. 

The door opened. “Hey, guys.”

Clarisse looked up. Chris and Sherman had returned from wherever they’d been, Clarisse didn’t remember. “You two are back early.”

“Guess so,” Sherman agreed, flopping down in his own bed, across the room from Miranda. “Anyway, were you two having a moment, or…?”

“No, no,” Clarisse insisted, pulling her hands away from Miranda’s. “We were just talking about some things. Don’t worry.”

“Worry? Why would I worry?” Sherman snorted. “I mean, you’re the one who’s always saying you’re not a lesbo. Why would I be worried about you stealing my girl?”

Chris sat down next to Clarisse, wrapping an arm around her hip. He studied her face. “... You all right?”

Clarisse leaned into him slightly. “... Yeah.”

He pulled her into a hug, stroking her hair. “... Good. It’s a good day when you’re okay.”

Clarisse took a deep breath. Chris smelled nice. “... Thanks. Seriously, I owe you guys one. Not you, Sherm, you suck. But Miranda and Chris, I love you guys. Thank you so much for everything. I’m serious.”

Miranda smiled sweetly. “Of course, Risse. I love you too.”

Chris chuckled. “Yeah, same as what she said. I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will have one more chapter. Just to wrap it up a bit. I think now that all the bad stuff is out in the open, they will both be able to heal. The ending will be a bit open-ended, just to avoid becoming repetitive, and also because some of the things that they've been through (Clarisse especially) are nearly impossible to ever fully "heal" from. The idea that someone could ever be fully "back to normal" after going through either trauma, a hardcore self-harm phase or a lengthy period of disordered eating is somewhat bunk to me. It's just not how I want to end things.
> 
> If I have anything else to add to this fic, I'll edit in a chapter (if that's possible) or put it in my drabble doc. Which you should read. Because I'm really much better with short, messy things than I am with anything remotely organized. As you could probably guess from the way this fic ended up.


	18. Promises to Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The anniversary of Silena's death has rolled around again. But this time, Clarisse deals with it a bit differently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a brief scene with a shirtless male. That's about it.

“Hey, have you talked to Clarisse today?” 

Miranda turned to Sherman. It was a warm summer day, too late in the year for strawberries, but just right for Sherman to try to strip off his shirt every ten minutes. They were sitting beside each other in the strawberry fields, just enjoying each other’s company. “No, why?” she responded.

“Because today is August seventeenth,” Sherman said matter-of-factly.

“The anniversary,” Miranda murmured. “Yeah. I should… I should go check in on her. How did she seem this morning?”

Sherman thought. “It was… it was weird. She was almost, like… _zen._ Even when she realized what day it was, she was still just really calm. Do you think she’s, like… drugged? Did she get prescribed something weird?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Miranda shrugged. 

Sherman wiped sweat off of his brow. “Good to know Clarisse hasn’t compromised her stance on psychoactive drugs any. You know, I’ve been mentally preparing for the day she says she’s on antidepressants or something, just so I could get the chance to call her out for hypocrisy on something, but I should’ve known Clarisse was a stubborn enough dame to try to heal herself. Well, whatever. It’s just good she’s all zen as opposed to angry or mopey.”

Miranda snorted. “Yeah. Say, why do I know so many caucasian brunette girls who are hardcore anti-psychoactive drug, anti-meds, whatever? Because Katie thought all therapy and meds were farces, and Clarisse is anti-antidepressant according to you. Is it just a thing that girls do now?”

“Dunno. I don’t hang out with many girls,” Sherman shrugged. He huffed, wiping more sweat off his brow. “May I take my shirt off now? Please? I feel disgusting, and I don’t want this shirt to stink up the cabin when I finally take it off.”

Miranda stood up. “Tell you what. You can strip entirely after I leave to go talk to Clarisse. Sit entirely nude in this damn field and sweat all over the place,” she laughed. “Dirty boy.”

“I’m your swine,” Sherman agreed, smiling. Then his face changed and he gritted his teeth. “Ugh. That was cringy as hell. Never doing that again.”

“Yup. See you later, Sherm.” She gave his sweaty face a kiss. “Love ya.”

“Love you,” Sherman murmured, tracing her figure with his eyes as she retreated. 

  
  


Miranda arrived at the Ares cabin only a moment later. She knocked lightly on the door. “Clarisse?”

There was a long pause. “... Come in,” came a dull voice from the other side. 

Miranda pushed open the door. Clarisse was sitting cross-legged on the floor, dressed only in a tank top and shorts, looking at a small bit of paper she held in her hand. “... Clarisse? You okay?”

“Because it’s the anniversary. I know. And you think I’m hurting myself. I know. Well, I’m not hurting myself,” Clarisse grumbled. “You can fucking strip me if you want. I don’t care.”

“I don’t want to see that, Risse,” Miranda snorted. “You know I don’t.” She approached Clarisse, studying the piece of paper in her hands. It was an old Polaroid of herself and Silena. Clarisse was holding her from behind, her face frozen in an open-mouthed grin. “... I’m proud of you for not hurting yourself, though.”

“... Thanks,” Clarisse murmured.

Miranda knelt behind Clarisse, patting her back. “... You need a hug?”

Clarisse looked back. Her eyes were red. “... Please,” she sniffled. “... Please.”

Miranda wrapped her arms around Clarisse. Clarisse lay herself slowly into Miranda’s slim arms, nesting her head in her shoulder. “... How are you managing? Without hurting yourself, I mean.”

“... I don’t know,” Clarisse sniffled. “... It hurts so bad. I’m all… I don’t know. Mixed up inside. I loved her, but I… I hate what she did. And I hate whoever seeded that idea in her head. And I hate whoever sent her back to get me.”

“Well, of course you hate whoever sent her to get you. It was Percy,” Miranda snorted, petting Clarisse’s hair. 

“... What an asshole,” Clarisse sniffled. “I hope he wakes up every day knowing he got a sweet girl killed. I hope he regrets it every minute of his life. I hope he experiences… I hope he experiences even a _sliver,_ even a _slice_ of the grief I hold. Fuck him. I’ll kill that shitlord some day.”

“Don’t say stuff like that,” Miranda murmured, putting on her most soothing voice. “We were desperate. Clarisse, we _needed_ you. Silena was just unfortunate enough to find the wrong way to do it. It couldn’t have been foreseen. It was nobody’s fault.”

Clarisse was quiet for a long time, sniffling and crying softly. “... I could have saved her,” she whimpered. “I should have… oh, gods… a _chariot?_ Why did I think… oooh, gods, I should have died in her place. _Me._ Not her. Me.”

“Oh, my girl,” Miranda whispered, rubbing circles on Clarisse’s back. “Oh, my girl. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have predicted it. You couldn’t have known it would happen.”

“... I was so petty.” Clarisse shook her head, pressing her face harder into Miranda’s shoulder. “So fucking petty.”

“We’re all petty sometimes,” Miranda reassured. “You just chose the wrong time to be petty. That’s not entirely your fault.”

Clarisse shook her head. She didn’t reply. 

Miranda cradled her for a few more minutes, running hands over her back, through her hair. She would have given anything to know the right words to say, the right things to do. She thought back to the day Clarisse had carried her from the cabin, two years and a month ago. She thought about all the rage she’d had in the beginning, the burning hate. She thought about how quickly that hate had evaporated at Clarisse’s warmth, the way she’d forgiven her for being so obnoxious, so cruel. She thought of all the love Clarisse had put into her, all the love she’d put into Clarisse in return. They’d hurt side-by-side, healed side-by-side, fought side-by-side. They’d helped each other through relapses, all the highs and lows. 

Miranda couldn’t let Clarisse feel this ache. Not in good conscience. 

“... Tell me what to do,” Miranda whispered. “To make you feel better. Help me make you feel better.”

Clarisse sniffled. “... Please, just stay with me. I don’t care if the entire damn camp is on fire. Just stay with me.”

“Of course,” Miranda whispered. “Of course. Of course I’ll stay.”

Clarisse gasped, balling her fists in the fabric of Miranda’s tee shirt. Miranda could feel the heat of her angry grief flowing through the press of her fingers. A harsh sob broke from Clarisse’s lips. “Don’t do anything stupid, you hear? Don’t you dare! Fucking… I don’t care if we have to put you in a gods-damn _cage,_ we’re gonna keep you safe. You’re not gonna fucking die. You’re not gonna go the way she did. Miranda, you’re my only friend. My _only_ friend. Oh, gods, gods, I can’t lose you. I’ll… I’ll fall right back into...”

“... hurting yourself?”

Clarisse nodded. 

“... It’s okay,” Miranda murmured. “... I’m not going anywhere. I’m not gonna get myself hurt. Not with you and Sherman protecting me. I’m okay. I’m not gonna hurt myself. I’m here. I’m here. Solid. Real. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“... I know,” Clarisse sniffled. “I… I don’t know how to pay you back for that. I don’t.”

Miranda gently ran her nails between her shoulder blades. “You paid me back the day you forgave me for being so obnoxious over you saving me.”

“... I’m so glad you forgave me,” Clarisse murmured. “I… I don’t know how things would have turned out if you hadn’t been there. I think…” Another sob choked out of her throat. “... I think I would have stayed in that basement until I went crazy.”

“... You mean after what Ares showed you?” Miranda didn’t dare say what it was.

Clarisse nodded. “... Yeah.”

Miranda giggled sweetly. “Don’t worry. I know you’d do the same for me.” She gave Clarisse a small squeeze. 

There was a long pause. Miranda listened as Clarisse’s sobs died down slowly, cries to whimpers, whimpers to gasps, gasps to sniffles, until finally, she was calm. Finally, Clarisse pulled away. She took another look at the photo, her face nearly expressionless. 

“... Do you feel any better?” Miranda asked.

“... Slightly,” Clarisse murmured. “It still… it aches, but it’s dull.”

“... Yeah,” Miranda whispered. “Yeah.” 

“But I… I’m not gonna hurt myself. Or you. Or… I don’t know. I’m… I’m tired.”

“You’ve been crying,” Miranda murmured. “It’s natural.”

Clarisse nodded. “... I suppose.”

“... Do you want to sleep?”

“I don’t like sleeping in midday,” Clarisse sighed. “It only keeps you from sleeping when you’re supposed to sleep.”

“... All right.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Well, Sherman and I are hanging out in the strawberry fields. Do you want to join?”

Clarisse yawned. “I… I don’t know. If… if Sherman sees me all… weepy-eyed, I’ll look weak. And before you say anything, I know I’m weak. I’m very weak. But I can’t _look_ it, you know?”

“Sherman won’t say anything. Risse, he’s terrified of you. You’ll be fine,” Miranda soothed. “Also, you’re not weak. You’re one of the strongest people I know. And not just physically. Mentally too. You have an immense internal strength. I envy it, in fact.”

“... No one who hurts themselves is internally strong,” Clarisse murmured. 

Miranda looked down. “... Clarisse, that’s… that’s not internal weakness. That’s desperation. Even the strong get desperate. It’s okay.” She gave Clarisse’s hand a soft pat. “You’re not weak.”

Clarisse sighed. “... I’ll take your word for it,” she murmured. 

“I hope you will,” Miranda replied. “Sure, you made a mistake. But you don’t deserve to beat yourself up over it. I mean, how long has it been since you last…”

“That time I called you in tears over my inability to please Chris in bed. That was the last time.”

“Clarisse, that’s awesome!” Miranda laughed. “That was like, eight or nine months ago!”

“... It was,” Clarisse mused. “It was. It…” She gave a watery laugh. “... It doesn’t feel that long.”

“I know,” Miranda sighed. “Time moves in bizarre ways, doesn’t it?”

Clarisse nodded. “... Yeah. It does.” She yawned. “Ugh. I gotta get out of here. I’ll actually fall asleep if I stay.”

“Come with me. Sherman and you and I can hang out. You can bring Chris as well. I don’t know what we’ll do but it’ll be fun. And it’ll be more healing than sitting here in the dark and crying,” Miranda reassured. “After all, I think you’ve cried enough for one day, don’t you?”

Clarisse wiped her eyes. “... Yeah. I do.”

“And Silena wouldn’t want you to cry. I know that much.”

Clarisse closed her eyes, holding the photograph to her breast. “... You’re right. She… she loved me.” Clarisse’s voice tapered to a whisper. “She really loved me.”

“As much as you loved her,” Miranda reassured. “At least as much as you loved her.”

Clarisse didn’t respond. Miranda watched as she pulled on her armor, listened to the _click click click_ of the snaps and buckles that held it in place. She jammed her feet in her boots. “... You ready?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Miranda replied absently. She stood up awkwardly. “Let’s go.”

The outside world was almost dreamlike in its haziness and heat. The normally chaotic camp felt almost like it was asleep, unnaturally bright and still underneath a blanket of sticky heat. Clarisse felt sweat bead under her armor.

“... You were at breakfast, right?” Clarisse asked.

“Yeah,” Miranda replied. “Of course I was.”

“... Good,” Clarisse murmured. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

Miranda chuckled. “I’m happy you’re happy. You need more happiness in your life.”

Clarisse gave Miranda a small smile. “... Thanks.”

They entered the strawberry fields, Miranda leading the way. They found Sherman lying on his back, shirtless in the heat. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Clarisse started. “Put your damn shirt back on. No one wants to see your fucking nips.”

Sherman stuck out his tongue in response. “You’re just jealous ‘cuz _you_ can’t get half-naked.” 

“Oh, trust me. In today’s fashion climate, I could be eighty percent nude one hundred percent of the time and it would be totally fine. But I keep my clothes on, because I’m a decent human being. Now put your damn shirt back on,” Clarisse snipped.

“Joke’s on you,” Sherman laughed. “I made Ellis take my shirt back to the cabin.”

“Well, he never showed up there. So either you’re lying or Ellis is an ass.”

“It’s the second one,” Sherman assured. “It’s definitely the second one.”

Clarisse thought. “Yeah. You’re right,” she concluded. “Now get your ass over here. We’re taking you back to the cabin and getting you a new shirt. Miranda, you want to come?”

“I’m good,” Miranda laughed. “Besides, I think we’re, like, super close to lunchtime, aren’t we?”

“Ten minutes away,” Sherman assured.

“All right. Then I’ll stay here and meet you then.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Sherman grinned.

Clarisse wrenched Sherman’s arm, pulling him to his feet. “See you at lunch, Miranda!” she yelled, dragging Sherman across the fields in the direction of the cabins.

“See you at lunch, Risse!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the longest continuous thing I've ever written.  
> Yeah, I know what you're saying. There are people out there who are writing fanfics that are longer than the entirety of PJO, HOO, and TOA combined. But it's pretty impressive to me.
> 
> I decided to leave it a bit open-ended, only because with things like this, relapses happen, and it doesn't always have a perfect Disney-level happy ending. But I do think I left them in a good place. And that's what's important in the end.
> 
> Remember kids, don't engage in acts of self-harm or disordered eating or whatever. It isn't a path you want to start down. Just trust me on this one.
> 
> Signing off,  
> Weezl

**Author's Note:**

> Look. I don't condone eating disorders, self harm or anything else that might be mentioned in this fic. I know that these types of things feel weirdly incredible at the time, but some good feelings aren't worth it. Especially not the kind of good feelings that are incredibly addictive. And these things are addictive.
> 
> Okay, sorry for getting preachy. I just wanted to make that very clear.


End file.
